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140  PACIFIC 
LONG  BEACH. 


WHAT  CAN  SHE  Do? 


REV.   E.  P.   ROE, 

AUTHOR  OF  "BARRIERS  BURNED  AWAY,"   "PLAY    AHB 
PROFIT  IN  MY  GARDEN." 


Hail  I  honest  toil,  thy  hard  brown  hand 
May  save  the  fairest  in  the  land 


NEW  YORK 

DODD,   MEAD   &  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1873,  by 

DODD  &  MEAD, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


DEDICATION. 


IP  I  WERE 

TO  DEDICATE    THIS 

BOOK    IT  WOULD  BE    TO    THOSK 

GT3LS   WHO   RESOLVE   THAT   THEY  WILL  NOT 

?LAY  THE  POOH  ROLE  OF  MIOAWBER,  THEIR  ONLY  CHANCE  BVB 

LIFE  BEING  THAT  SOME  ONE  WILL  "TURN  UP" 

WHOM  THEY  MAY  BURDEN  WITH 

THEIR     HELPLESS 

WEIGHT. 


2047422 


PREFACE. 


THIS  book  was  not  written  to  amuse,  to  cieate 
purposeless  excitement,  or  secure  a  little 
praise  as  a  bit  of  artistic  work.  It  would  probably 
fail  in  all  these  things.  It  was  written  with  a 
definite,  earnest  purpose,  which  I  trust  will  be  ap- 
parent to  the  reader. 

I  have  nothing  to  say  tending  to  disarm  the 
critics.  They  will  speak  their  mind,  as  they  ought, 
and  it  is  wholesome  for  us  to  have  our  faults  point- 
ed out. 

As  society  in  our  land  grows  older,  and  departs 
from  primitive  simplicity,  as  many  are  becoming 
rich,  but  more  poor,  the  changes  that  I  have  sought 
to  warn  against  become  more  threatening.  The 
ordinary  avenues  of  industry  are  growing  thronged, 
and  it  daily  involves  a  more  fearful  risk  for  a  woman 
to  be  thrown  out  upon  the  world  with  unskilled 
hands,  an  untrained  mind,  and  an  unbraced  moral 
nature.  Impressed  with  this  danger  by  some  con- 
siderable observation,  by  a  multitude  of  facts  that 


v{  PREFACE. 

might  wring  tears  from  stony  eyes,  I  have  tried  to 
write  earnestly  if  not  wisely. 

Of  necessity,  it  touches  somewhat  on  a  subject 
delicate  and  difficult  to  treat — the  "  skeleton  in  the 
closet  "  of  society.  But  the  evil  exists  on  every 
side  and  at  some  time  or  other  threatens  every 
home  and  life  It  is  my  belief  that  Christian 
teachers  should  not  timidly  or  loftily  ignore  it,  for, 
mark  it  well,  the  evil  does  not  let  us  or  ours  alone. 
It  is  my  belief  that  it  should  be  dealt  with  in  a 
plain,  fearless,  manly  manner.  Those  who  differ 
have  a  right  to  their  opinion. 

There  is  one  other  thought  that  I  wish  to  sug- 
gest. Much  of  the  fiction  of  our  day,  otherwise 
strong  and  admirable,  is  discouraging  in  this  re- 
spect. In  the  delineation  of  character,  some  are 
good,  some  are  bad,  and  some  indifferent.  We  have 
a  lovely  heroine  or  a  noble  hero  developing  seem- 
ingly in  harmony  with  the  inevitable  laws  of  their 
natures.  Associated  with  them  are  those  of  the 
commoner  or  baser  sort,  also  developing  in  accord- 
ance with  the  innate  principles  of  their  natures. 
The  first  are  presented  as  if  created  of  different 
and  finer  clay  than  the  others.  The  first  are  the 
flowers  in  the  garden  of  society,  the  latter  the 
weeds. 

According  to  this  theory  of  character,  the  heroine 
must  grow  as  a  moss-rose  and  the  weed  remain  a 


PREFACE.  Vll 

weed.  Credit  is  not  due  to  one  ;  blame  should  not 
be  visited  on  the  other.  Is  this- true?  Is  not  the 
choice  between  good  and  evil  placed  before  every 
human  soul,  save  where  ignorance  and  mental 
feebleness  destroy  free  agency  ?  In  the  field  of 
the  world  which  the  angels  of  God  are  to  reap,  is  it 
not  even  possible  for  the.  tares  to  become  wheat  ? 
And  cannot  the  sweetest  and  most  beautiful  natural 
flowers  of  character  borrow  from  the  skies  a 
fragrance  and  bloom  that  is  not  of  earth  ?  So  God's 
inspired  Word  teaches  me. 

I  have  turned  away  from  many  an  exquisite  and 
artistic  delineation  of  human  life,  sighing,  God 
might  as  well  have  never  spoken  words  of  hope, 
warning,  and  strength  for  all  there  is  in  this  book. 
The  Divine  and  human  Friend  might  have  re- 
mained  hi  the  Heavens,  and  never  come  to  earth 
in  human  guise,  that  He  might  press  His  great 
heart  of  world-wide  sympathy  against  the  burdened, 
suffering  heart  of  humanity.  He  need  not  have 
died  to  open  a  way  of  life  for  all.  There  is  nothing 
here  but  human  motive,  human  strength,  and 
earthly  destiny.  We  protest  against  this  narrowing 
down  of  life,  though  it  be  done  with  the  faultless 
skill  and  taste  of  the  most  cultured  genius.  The 
children  of  men  are  not  orphaned.  Our  Creator  is 
still  ''Emmanuel — God  with  us."  Earthly  existence 
is  but  the  first  notes  in  the  prelude  of  our  life,  and 


Viii  PREFACE. 

even  from  this  the  Divine  artist  can  take  much  of 
the  discord,  and  give  an  earnest  of  the  eternal 
harmonies. 

We  all  are  honored  with  the  privilege  of  "  co- 
working  with  Him." 

If  I,  in  my  little  sphere,  can,  by  this  book,  lead 
one  father  to  train  his  children  to  be  more  strong 
and  self-reliant,  one  mother  to  teach  her  daughters 
a  purer,  more  patient,  and  heroic  womanhood — if  1 
have  placed  one  more  barrier  in  the  tempter's  way, 
and  inspired  one  more  wholesome  fear  and  prin- 
ciple in  the  heart  of  the  tempted — if,  by  lifting  the 
dark  curtain  a  moment,  I  can  reveal  enough  to  keep 
one  country  girl  from  leaving  her  safe  native  village 
for  unprotected  life  in  great  cities — if  I  can  add  one 
iota  toward  a  public  opinion  that  will  honor  useful 
labor,  however  humble,  and  condemn  and  render 
disgraceful  idleness  and  helplessness,  however  gild- 
ed— if,  chief  of  all,  I  lead  one  heavy-laden  heart  to 
the  only  source  of  rest,  I  shall  be  well  rewarded, 
whatever  is  said  of  this  volume. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

VMM 

Three  Girls i 

CHAPTER  II. 
A  Future  of  Human  Designing        ...        -         12 

CHAPTER  III. 
Three  Men    ----•-••-      28 

CHAPTER  IV. 
The  Skies  Darkening         ......         43 

CHAPTER  V. 
The  Storm  Threatening 5§ 

CHAPTER  VI. 
The  Wreck 77 

CHAPTER  VII. 
Among  the  Breakers     -.--.--95 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
Warped »7 


CONTENTS. 
CHAPTER    IX. 


A  Desert  Island 


CHAPTER  X. 
Edith  Becomes  a  Divinity          -        -        •        •        •        150 

CHAPTER  XL 
Mrs.  Allen's  Policy        .......    i?o 

CHAPTER  XII. 
Waiting  for  Some  One  to  Turn  up  181 

CHAPTER   XIII. 
They  Turn  up      -.---.-.    aor 


CHAPTER   XIV. 
We  Can't  Work 


CHAPTER  XV. 
The  Temptation   -----.        -  ajl 

CHAPTER  XVI. 
Black  Hannibal's  White  Heart  256 

CHAPTER   XVII. 
The  Changes  of  Two  Short  Months    ...        -    268 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 
Ignorance.    Looking  for  Work          ....       286 


CONTENTS.  xi 

CHAPTER   XIX. 

r&M 
A  Falling  Star 295 

CHAPTER  XX. 
Desolation ....305 

CHAPTER  XXI. 
Edith's  True  Knight    -        -_-.„.,.„._-    317 

CHAPTER  XXII. 
A  Mystery          - 327 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 
A  Dangerous  Step        .......    334 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 
Scorn  and  Kindness  -------        338 

CHAPTER  XXV. 
A  Horror  of  Great  Darkness  •        •    345 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 
Friend  and  Saviour  ---.--.353 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 
The  Mystery  Solved     -----        .        -    364 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 
Edith  Tells  the  Old,  Old  Story         -  382 


xii  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER    XXIX. 

MM 

Hannibal  Learns  how  his  Heart  can  be  White  «        «    394 

CHAPTER    XXX. 
Edith's  and  Arden's  Friendship        ....       403 


CHAPTER   XXXL 

423 


CHAPTER    XXXIL 
Edith  Brings  the  Wanderer  Home  ...       443 

CHAPTER    XXXIII, 
Edith's  Great  Temptation    ----..    473 

CHAPTER    XXXIV. 
Saved         .........       48! 

CHAPTER    XXXV. 
Closing  Scenes     -       -       •       •       -        -        .        .    498 

CHAPTER    XXXVL 
Ust  Words        ........       50! 


WHAT  CAN  SHE  Do? 


CHAPTER  I. 

THREE  GIRLS. 

I  T  was  a  very  cold  blustering  day  in  early  Janua- 
ly,  and  even  brilliant  thronged  Broadway  felt 
the  influence  of  winter's  harshest  frown.  There 
had  been  a  heavy  fall  of  snow  which,  though  in 
the  main  cleared  from  the  sidewalks,  lay  in  the 
streets  comparatively  unsullied  and  unpacked. 
Fitful  gusts  of  the  passing  gale  caught  it  up  and 
whirled  it  in  every  direction.  From  roof,  ledges, 
and  window  sills,  miniature  avalanches  suddenly 
descended  on  the  startled  pedestrians,  and  the  air 
was  here  and  there  loaded  with  falling  flakes  from 
wild  hurrying  masses  of  clouds,  the  rear  guard  of 
the  storm  that  the  biting  northwest  wind  was 
driving  seaward. 

It  was  early  in  the  afternoon,  and  the  great 
thoroughfare  was  almost  deserted.  Few  indeed 
would  be  abroad  for  pleasure  in  such  weather,  and 
the  great  tide  of  humanity  that  must  flow  up  and 
down  this  channel  every  working  day  of  the  year 
under  all  skies,  had  not  yet  turned  northward. 


2  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DO? 

But  surely  this  graceful  figure  coming  up  the 
street  with  quick,  elastic  steps,  has  not  the  aspect 
of  one  driven  forth  by  grave  business  cares,  nor  in 
the  natural  course  of  things  would  one  expect  so 
young  a  lady  to  know  much  of  life's  burdens  and 
responsibilities.  As  she  passes  I  am  sure  the 
reader  would  not  turn  away  from  so  pleasant  a 
vision,  even  if  Broadway  were  presenting  ail  its 
numberless  attractions,  but  at  such  a  time -would 
make  the  most  of  the  occasion,  assured  that  noth- 
ing as  agreeable  would  greet  his  eyes  again  that 
sombre  day. 

The  fierce  gusts  make  little  impression  on  her 
heavy,  close-fitting  velvet  dress,  and  in  her  pro- 
gress against  the  wind  she  appears  so  trim  and 
taut  that  a  sailor's  eye  would  be  captivated.  She 
bends  her  little  turbaned  head  to  the  blast,  and 
her  foot  strikes  the  pavement  with  a  decision  that 
suggests  a  naturally  brave,  resolute  nature,  and 
gives  abundant  proof  of  vigor  and  health.  A  trim- 
ming of  silver  fox  fur  caught  and  contrasted  the 
snow  crystals  against  the  black  velvet  of  her  dress, 
in  which  the  flakes  catch  and  mingle,  increasing 
the  sense  of  lightness  and  airiness  which  her 
movements  awaken,  and  were  you  seeking  a  fanci- 
ful idealization  of  the  spirit  of  the  snow,  you  might 
rest  satisfied  with  the  first  character  that  appears 
upon  the  scene  of  my  story. 

But  on  nearer  view  there  was  nothing  spirit-like 
or  even  spirituelle  in  her  aspect,  save  that  an  ex« 
tremely  transparent  complexion  was  rendered  poa. 


THREE  GIRLS,  3 

Itively  dazzling  by  the  keen  air  and  glow  of  exer- 
cise ;  and  the  face  was  much  too  full  and  blooming 
to  suggest  the  shadowy  and  ethereal. 

When  near  2 1st  street  she  entered  a  fruit  store 
and  seemed  in  search  of  some  delicacy  for  an  in- 
valid. As  her  eye  glanced  around  among  the  fra- 
grant tropical  fruits  that  suggested  lands  in  wide 
contrast  to  the  wintry  scene  without,  she  suddenly 
uttered  a  low  exclamation  of  delight,  as  she  turned 
from  them  to  old  friends,  all  the  more  welcome 
because  so  unexpected  and  out  of  season.  These 
were  nothing  less  than  a  dozen  strawberries,  in 
dainty  baskets,  decked  out,  or  more  truly  eked 
out,  with  a  few  green  leaves.  Three  or  four  bas- 
kets constituted  the  fruiterer's  entire  stock,  and 
probably  the  entire  supply  for  the  metropolis  of 
America  that  day. 

She  had  scarcely  time  to  lift  a  basket  and  in- 
hale  its  delicious  aroma,  before  the  proprietor  of 
the  store  was  in  bowing  attendance,  quite  as  open- 
ly admiring  her  carnation  cheeks  as  she  the  ruby 
fruit.  The  man's  tongue  was,  however,  more  de- 
corous than  his  eyes,  and  to  her  question  as  to 
price  he  replied, — 

"  Only  two  dollars  a  basket,  Miss,  and  certainly 
they  are  beauties  for  this  season  of  the  year.  They 
are  all  I  could  get  and  I  don't  believe  there  is  an- 
other strawberry  in  New  York." 

"  I  will  take  them  all/'  was  the  brief,  decisive 
answer,  and  from  a  costly  portmonnaie  she  threw 
down  the  price,  a  proceeding  which  the  man  noted 


4  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DO  t 

in  agreeable  surprise,  and  again  curiously  scanned 
the  fair  face  as  he  made  up  the  parcel  with  ostenta- 
tious zeal.  But  his  customer  was  unconscious,  or 
more  truly,  indifferent  to  his  admiration,  and  seem- 
ed much  more  interested  in  the  samples  of  choice 
fruit  arranged  on  every  side.  From  one  to  another 
of  these  she  flitted  with  the  delicate  sensuousness 
of  a  butterfly,  smelling  them  and  touching  them 
lightly  with  the  hand  she  had  ungloved,  (which  was 
as  white  as  the  snow  without,)  as  if  they  had  for 
her  a  peculiar  fascination. 

"  You  seem  very  fond  of  fruit,"  said  the  mer- 
chant, his  amour  propre  pleased  by  her  evident  in- 
terest in  his  stock. 

"  I  have  ever  had  a  passion  for  fine  fruits  and 
flowers,"  was  the  reply,  spoken  with  that  perfect 
frankness  characteristic  of  American  girls.  "  No, 
you  need  not  send  it ;  I  prefer  to  take  it  with  me." 

And  with  a  slight  smile,  she  passed  out,  leaving 
the  fruiterer  chuckling  over  the  thought  that  he 
had  probably  had  the  pleasantest  bit  of  trade  of 
any  man  on  Broadway  that  dull  day. 

Plunging  through  the  drifts,  our  nymph  of  the 
snow  resolutely  crossed  the  street  and  passed  down 
to  a  flower  store,  but  instead  of  buying  a  bouquet, 
ordered  several  pots  of  budding  and  blooming 
plants  to  be  sent  to  her  address.  She  then  made 
her  way  to  Fifth  Avenue  and  soon  mounted  a 
broad  flight  of  steps  to  one  of  its  most  stately 
houses.  The  door  yielded  to  her  key,  her  thick 
talking  boots  clattered  fora  moment  on  the  mar- 


THREE  GIRLS.  5 

ble  floor  but  could  not  disguise  the  lightness  of  hef 
step  as  she  tripped  up  the  winding  stair  and  push- 
ed open  a  rosewood  door  leading  into  the  upper 
hall. 

"  Mother,  mother,"  she  exclaimed,  "  here  is  a 
treat  for  you  that  will  banish  nerves,  headache,  and 
horrors  generally.  See  what  I  have  found  for  you 
out  in  the  wintry  snows.  Now  am  I  not  a  good 
faiiy  for  once  ?  " 

"  O,  Edith,  child,  not  so  boisterous,  please,"  re- 
sponded a  querulous  voice  from  a  great  easy  chair 
by  the  glowing  grate,  and  a  middle  aged  lady  turn- 
ed a  white,  faded  face  towards  her  daughter. 

"  Forgive  me,  mother,  but  my  tramp  in  the 
January  storm  has  made  me  feel  rampantly  well. 
I  wish  you  could  go  out  and  take  a  run  every  day 
as  I  do.  You  would  then  look  younger  and  pret- 
tier than  your  daughters,  as  you  used  to." 

The  invalid  shivered  and  drew  her  shawl  closer 
around  her,  complaining, — 

"  I  think  you  have  brought  the  whole  month 
of  January  in  with  you.  You  really  must  show 
more  consideration,  my  dear,  for  if  I  should  take 
cold — ''  and  the  lady  ended  with  a  weary,  suggest- 
ive sigh. 

In  fact,  Edith  had  entered  the  dim  heavily-per- 
fumed room  like  a  gust  of  wholesome  air,  her  young 
blood  tingling  and  electric  with  exercise,  and  her 
heart  buoyant  with  the  thought  of  the  surprise  and 
pleasure  she  had  in  store  for  her  mother.  But  the 
manner  in  which  she  had  been  received  had  already 


6  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOt 

chilled  her  more  than  the  biting  blasts  on  Broad* 
way.  She  therefore  opened  her  bundle  and  set 
out  the  little  baskets  before  her  mother  very  quiet- 
ly. The  lady  glanced  at  them  for  a  moment  and 
then  said,  indifferently, — 

"  It  is  very  good  of  you  to  think  of  me,  my 
dear;  they  look  very  pretty.  I  am  sorry  I  cannot 
eat  them,  but  their  acid  would  only  increase  my 
dyspepsia.  Those  raised  in  winter  must  be  very 
sour.  Ugh!  the  thought  of  it  sfcts  my  teeth  on  edge," 
and  the  poor,  nervous  creature  shrank  deeper  into 
her  wrappings. 

"  I  am  real  sorry,  mother,  I  thought  they 
would  be  a  great  treat  for  you,"  said  Edith,  quite 
crestfallen.  "  Never  mind ;  I  got  some  flowers, 
and  they  will  be  here  soon." 

"  Thank  you,  dear,  but  the  doctor  says  they 
are  not  healthy  in  a  room — Oh,  dear— that  child  1 
what  shall  I  do!" 

The  front  door  banged,  there  was  a  step  on  the 
stairs,  but  not  so  light  as  Edith's  had  been,  and  a 
moment  later  the  door  burst  open,  and  "the  child" 
rushed  in  like  a  mild  whirlwind,  exclaiming, — 

"  Hurrah,  hurrah,  school  to  the  shades.  No 
more  teachers  and  tyrants  for  me,"  and  down  went 
an  armful  of  books  with  a  bang  on  the  table. 

"  O,  Zell,"  cried  Edith,  "  please  be  quiet,  moth- 
er has  a  headache." 

"  There,  there,  your  baby  will  kiss  it  all  away," 
and  the  irrepressible  young  creature  threw  her 
arms  around  the  bundle  that  Mrs.  Allen  had  mad<» 


THREE  GIRLS.  J 

herself  into  by  her  many  wrappings,  and  before  she 
ceased,  the  red  pouting  lips  left  the  faintest  tinge 
of  their  own  color  on  the  faded  cheeks  of  the 
mother. 

The  lady  endured  the  boisterous  embrace  with 
a  martyr-like  expression.  Zell  was  evidently  a 
privileged  character,  the  spoiled  pet  of  the  house- 
hold. But  a  new  voice  was  now  heard  that  was 
sharper  than  the  "  pet"  was  accustomed  to. 

"  Zell,  you  are  a  perfect  bear.  One  would  think 
you  had  learned  your  manners  at  a  boys'  boarding 
school." 

Zell's  great  black  eyes  blazed  for  a  moment  to- 
wards the  speaker,  who  was  a  young  lady  reclining 
on  a  lounge  near  the  window,  and  who  in  appear- 
ance must  have  been  the  counterpart  of  Mrs.  Allen 
herself  as  she  had  looked  twenty-three  years  be- 
fore. In  contrast  with  her  sharp,  annoyed  tone,  her 
cheeks  and  eyes  were  wet  with  tears. 

"  What  are  you  crying  about  ?''  was  Zell's 
brusque  response.  "  Oh,  I  see,  a  novel.  What  a 
ridiculous  old  thing  you  are.  I  never  saw  you 
shed  a  tear  over  real  trouble,  and  yet  every  few 
days  you  are  dissolved  in  brine  over  Adolph  Moon- 
shine's agonies,  and  Seraphina's  sentiment,  which 
any  sensible  person  can  see  is  caused  by  dyspepsia. 
No  such  whipped  syllabub  for  me,  but  real  life." 

"  And  what  does  '  real  life'  mean  for  you,  I 
would  like  to  know,  but  eating,  dressing,  and  flut- 
ing ?  "  was  the  acid  retort. 

"  Though  you  call  me  '  child/  I  have  lived  long 


g  WHA T  CAN  SHE  DOT 

enough  to  learn  that  eating,  dressing,  and  flirting, 
and  while  you  are  about  it  you  might  as  well  add 
drinking,  is  the  '  real  life '  of  most  of  the  ladies  of 
our  set.  Indeed,  if  my  poor  memory  does  not  fail 
me,  I  have  seen  you  myself  take  a  turn  at  these 
things  sufficiently  often  to  make  the  sublime  scorn 
of  your  tone  a  little  inconsistent." 

As  these  barbed  arrows  flew,  the  tears  rapidly 
exhaled  from  the  hot  cheeks  of  the  young  lady  on 
the  sofa.  Her  elegant  languor  vanished,  and  she 
started  up ;  but  Mrs.  Allen  now  interfered,  and  in 
tones  harsh  and  high,  very  different  from  the  pre- 
vious delicate  murmurs,  exclaimed, — 

"  Children,  you  drive  me  wild.  Zell,  leave  the 
room,  and  don't  show  yourself  again  till  you  can 
behave  yourself." 

Zell  was  now  sobbing,  partly  in  sorrow,  and 
partly  in  anger,  but  she  let  fly  a  few  more  Parthian 
arrows  over  her  shoulder  as  she  passed  out. 

"  This  is  a  pretty  way  to  treat  one  on  their  birth- 
day. I  came  home  with  heart  as  light  as  the  snow- 
flakes  around  me,  and  now  you  have  spoiled  every- 
thing. I  don't  know  how  it  is,  but  I  always  have 
a  good  time  everywhere  else,  but  there  is  some- 
thing in  this  house  that  often  sets  one's  teeth  on 
edge,"  and  the  door  banged  appropriately  with  a 
spiteful  emphasis  as  the  last  word  was  spoken. 

"  Poor  child,"  said  Edith,  "  it  is  too  bad  that 
the  should  be  so  dashed  with  cold  water  on  hei 
birthday.'5 

"  She  isn't  a  child,"  said  the  eldest  sister,  rising 


THREE  GIRLS,  g 

from  the  sofa  and  sweeping  from  the  room, 
"  though  she  often  acts  like  one,  and  a  very  bad 
one  too.  Her  birthday  should  remind  her  that  if 
she  is  ever  to  be  a  woman,  it  is  time  to  commence," 
and  the  stately  young  lady  passed  coldly  away. 

Edith  went  to  the  window  and  looked  dejected- 
ly out  into  the  early  gloom  of  the  declining  winter 
day.  Mrs.  Allen  sighed  and  looked  more  nervous 
and  uncomfortable  than  usual. 

The  upholsterer  had  done  his  part  in  that  ele- 
gant home.  The  feet  sank  into  the  carpets  as  in 
moss.  Luxurious  chairs  seemed  to  embrace  the 
form  that  sank  into  them.  Everything  was  pad- 
ded, rounded,  and  softened,  except  tongues  and 
tempers.  If  wealth  could  remove  the  asperities 
from  these  as  from  material  things,  it  might  well 
be  coveted.  But  this  is  beyond  the  upholsterer's 
art,  and  Mrs.  Allen  knew  little  of  the  Divine  art 
that  can  wrap  up  words  and  deeds  with  a  kindness 
softer  than  eider-down. 

"  Mother's  room,"  instead  of  being  a  refuge  and 
favorite  haunt  of  these  three  girls,  was  a  place 
where,  as  we  have  seen,  their  "  teeth  were  set  on 
edge." 

Naturally  they  shunned  the  place,  visiting  the 
invalid  rather  than  living  with  her  ;  their  reluctant 
feet  impelled  across  the  threshold  by  a  sense  of 
duty  rather  than  drawn  by  the  cords  of  love.  The 
mother  felt  this  in  a  vague,  uncomfortable  way, 
for  mother  love  was  there,  only  it  had  seemingly 
turned  sour,  and  instead  of  attracting  her  children 


10  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOt 

by  sweetness  and  sympathy,  she  querulously  com. 
plained  to  them  and  to  her  husband  of  their  neg- 
lect. He  would  sometimes  laugh  it  off,  sometimes 
shrug  his  shoulders  indifferently,  and  again  harshly 
chide  the  girls,  according  to  his  mood,  for  he  varied 
much  in  this  respect.  After  'being  cool  and  wary 
all  day  in  Wall  street,  he  took  off  the  curb  at 
home.  Therefore  the  variations  that  never  could 
be  counted  on.  How  he  would  be  at  dinner  did 
not  depend  on  himself  or  any  principle,  but  on 
circumstances.  In  the  main  he  was  indulgent  and 
kind,  though  quick  and  passionate,  brooking  no 
opposition  ;  and  the  girls  were  really  more  attached 
to  him  and  found  more  pleasure  in  his  society 
than  in  their  mother's.  Zelica,  the  youngest,  was 
his  special  favorite,  and  he  humored  and  petted 
her  at  a  ruinous  rate,  though  often  storming  at 
some  of  her  follies. 

Mrs.  Allen  saw  this  preference  of  her  husband, 
and  was  weak  enough  to  feel  and  show  jealousy. 
But  her  complainings  were  ineffectual,  for  we  can 
no  more  scold  people  into  loving  us  than  nature 
could  make  buds  blossom  by  daily  nipping  them 
with  frost.  And  yet  she  made  her  children  un« 
comfortable  by  making  them  feel  that  it  was  un- 
natural and  wrong  that  they  did  not  care  more  for 
their  mother.  This  was  especially  true  of  Edith, 
who  tried  to  satisfy  her  conscience,  as  we  have  seen, 
by  bringing  costly  presents  and  delicacies  that 
were  seldom  needed  or  appreciated. 

Edith  soon  became  so  oppressed  by  her  moth 


THREE  GIRLS.  lj 

er's  sighs  and  silence  and  the  heavy  perfumed  air, 
that  she  sprang  up,  and  pressing  a  remorseful  kiss 
on  the  white  thin  face,  said, — 

"  I  must  dress  for  dinner,  mamma  ;  I  will  send 
your  maid,"  an4  vanished  also. 


CHAPTER  JL 

A  FUTURE  OF  HUMAN  DESIGNING. 

*T*HE  dining-room  at  six  o'clock  wore  a  far  mere 
cheerful  aspect  than  the  invalid's  room  up- 
stairs. It  was  furnished  in  a  costly  manner,  but 
more  ostentatiously  than  good  taste  would  dic- 
tate. You  instinctively  felt  that  it  was  a  sacred 
place  to  the  master  of  the  house,  in  which  he 
daily  sacrificed  to  one  of  his  chosen  deities. 

The  portly  colored  waiter,  in  dress  coat  and 
white  vest,  has  just  placed  the  soup  on  the  table, 
and  Mr.  Allen  enters,  supporting  his  wife.  He 
had  a  sort  of  manly  toleration  for  all  her  whims 
and  weaknesses.  He  had  never  indulged  in  any 
lofty  ideas  of  womanhood,  nor  had  any  special 
longings  for  her  sympathy  and  companionship. 
Business  was  the  one  engrossing  thing  of  his  life, 
and  this  he  honestly  believed  woman  incapable  of, 
from  her  very  nature.  It  was  true  of  his  wife,  but 
due  to  a  false  education  rather  than  to  any  innate 
difficulties,  and  he  no  more  expected  her  to  com- 
prehend and  sympathize  intelligently  with  his 
business  operations,  than  to  see  her  go  down  to 
Wall  street  with  him  wearing  his  hat  and  coat. 

She  had  been  the  leading  belle  in  his  set  years 
ago.  He  had  admired  her  immensely  as  a  stylish, 


A  FUTURE  OF  HUMAN  DESIGNING.  13 

beautiful  woman,  and  carried  her  off  from  dozens 
of  competitors,  who  were  fortunate  in  their  fail- 
ure. He  always  maintained  a  show  of  gallantry 
and  deference;  which,  though  but  veneer,  was 
certainly  better  than  open  disregard  and  brutal 
neglect. 

So  now,  with  a  good-natured  tolerance  and 
politeness,  he  seated  the  feeble  creature  in  a 
cushioned  chair  at  the  table,  treating  her  more 
like  a  spoiled  child  than  a  friend  and  companion. 
The  girls  immediately  appeared  also,  for  they 
knew  their  father's  weakness  too  well  to  keep  him 
waiting  for  his  dinner. 

Zell  bounded  into  his  arms  in  her  usual  impul- 
sive style,  and  the  father  caressed  her  in  a  way 
that  showed  that  his  heart  was  very  tender  toward 
his  youngest  child. 

"  And  so  my  baby  is  seventeen  to-day,"  he 
said.  "  Well,  well,  how  fast  we  are  growing  old." 

The  girl  laughed  ;  the  man  sighed.  The  one 
was  on  the  threshold  of  what  she  deemed  the 
richest  pleasures  of  life ;  the  other  had  well  nigh 
exhausted  them,  and  for  a  moment  realized  it. 

Still  he  was  in  excellent  spirits,  for  he  had 
been  unusually  fortunate  that  day,  and  had  seen 
his  way  to  an  "operation"  that  promised  a  golden 
future.  He  sat  down  therefore  to  the  good  cheer 
with  not  a  little  of  the  spirit  of  the  man  in  the 
parable,  whose  complaisant  exhortation  to  his 
soul  has  ever  been  the  language  of  false  security 
and  prosperity. 


I4  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DO  f 

The  father's  open  favoritism  for  Zell  was 
another  source  of  jealousy,  her  sisters  naturally 
feeling  injured  by  it.  Thus  in  this  household 
even  human  love  was  discordant  and  perverted, 
and  the  Divine  love  unknown. 

What  chance  had  character,  that  thing  of  slow 
growth,  in  such  an  atmosphere  r 

The  popping  of  a  champagne  cork  took  the 
place  of  grace  at  the  opening  of  the  meal,  and  the 
glasses  were  filled  all  around.  In  honor  of  Zell's 
birthday  they  drank  to  her  health  and  happiness. 
By  no  better  form  or  more  suggestive  ceremony 
could  this  Christian  (?)  family  wish  their  youngest 
member  "  God  speed  "  on  entering  the  vicissitudes 
of  a  new  year  of  life.  But  what  they  did  was 
done  heartily,  and  every  glass  was  drained.  To 
them  it  seemed  very  appropriate,  and  her  father 
said,  glancing  admiringly  at  her  flaming  cheeks 
and  dancing  eyes : 

.  "  This  is  just  the  thing  to  drink  Zell's  health  in, 
for  she  is  as  full  of  sparkle  and  effervescence  as 
the  champagne  itself." 

Had  he  been  a  wiser  and  more  thoughtful  man, 
he  would  have  carried  the  simile  farther  and 
remembered  the  fate  of  champagne  when  exposed. 
However  piquant  and  pleasing  Zell's  sparkle  might 
be,  it  would  hardly  secure  success  and  safety  for 
life.  But  in  his  creed  a  girl's  first  duty  was  to  be 
pretty  and  fascinating,  and  he  was  extremely 
proud  of  the  beauty  of  his  daughters.  It  was  his 
plan  to  marry  them  to  rich  men  who  would  main- 


A  FUTURE  OF  HUMAN  DESIGNING.  \  5 

tain  them  in  the  irresponsible  luxury  that  their 
niDther  had  enjoyed. 

Circumstances  seemed  to  justify  his  security. 
The  son  of  a  rich  man,  he  had  also  inherited  a 
taste  for  business  and  the  art  of  making  money. 
Years  of  prosperity  had  confirmed  his  confidence, 
and  he  looked  complaisantly  around  upon  his 
family  and  talked  of  the  future  In  sanguine  tones. 

He  was  a  man  considerably  past  his  prime,  and 
his  florid  face  and  portly  form  indicated  that  he 
was  in  the  habit  of  doing  ample  justice  to  the 
good  cheer  before  him.  Intense  application  to 
business  in  early  years  and  indulgence  of  appetite 
in  later  life  had  seriously  impaired  a  constitution 
naturally  good.  He  reminded  you  of  a  flower 
fully  blown  or  of  fruit  overripe. 

"  Since  you  have  permitted  Zell  to  leave  school, 
I  suppose  she  must  make  her  debut  soon,"  said 
Mrs.  Allen  with  more  animation  than  usual  in  her 
tone. 

"  Oh,  certainly,"  cried  Zell,  "  on  Edith's  birth- 
day, in  February.  We  have  arranged  it  all, 
haven't  we,  Edith?" 

"  Heigho,  then  I  am  to  have  no  part  in  the 
matter,"  said  her  father. 

"  Yes  indeed,  papa,''  cried  the  saucy  girl,  "  you 
are  to  have  no  end  of  kisses,  and  a  very  long  bill." 

This  sally  pleased  him  immensely,  for  it  ex- 
pressed his  ideal  of  womanly  return  for  masculine 
affection,  at  least  the  bills  had  never  been  wanting 
in  his  experience.  But,  mellowed  by  wine  and 


15  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOt 

elated  by  the  success  of  the  day,  he  n  DW  prepared 
to  give  the  coup  that  would  make  a  far  greater 
sensation  in  the  family  circle  than  even  a  debut  or 
a  birthday  party.  So,  glancing  from  one  eager 
face  to  another,  (for  between  the  wine  and  the 
excitement  even  Mrs.  Allen  was  no  longer  a  color-  * 
less,  languid  creature,  ready  to  faint  at  the  embrace 
of  her  child,)  he  said  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye, — 

"  Well,  go  to  your  mother  about  the  party 
She  is  a  veteran  in  such  matters.  But  let  there 
be  some  limit  to  the  length  of  the  bill,  or  I  can't 
carry  out  another  plan  I  have  in  view  for  you." 

Chorus—"  What  is  that  ?  " 

Coolly  filling  his  glass,  he  commenced  leisurely 
sipping,  while  glancing  humorously  from  one  to 
another,  enjoying  their  impatient  expectancy. 

"  If  you  don't  tell  us  right  away,"  cried  Zell, 
bouncing  up,  "  I'll  pull  your  whiskers  without 
mercy." 

"  Papa,  you  will  throw  mother  into  a  fever. 
See  how  flushed  her  face  is  ! "  said  Laura,  the 
eldest  daughter,  speaking  at  the  same  time  two 
•vords  for  herself. 

The  face  of  Edith,  with  its  dazzling  complexion 
all  aglow,  and  large  dark  eyes  lustrous  with  excite- 
ment, was  more  eloquent  than  words  could  have 
been,  and  the  "  bon  vivant''  drank  in  their  expres- 
sion with  as  much  zest  as  he  sipped  Irs  wine, 
Perhaps  it  was  well  for  him  to  make  the  most  of 
that  little  keen-edged  moment  of  bright  anticipa- 
tion and  bewildering  hope,  for  what  he  was  about 


A  FUTURE  OF  HUMAN  DESIGNING.  if 

to  propose  would  cost  him  many  thousands,  and 
exile  him  from  business,  which  to  him  was  the  very 
breath  of  life. 

But  Mrs.  Allen's  matter-of-fact  voice  brought 
things  to  a  crisis,  for  with  an  injured  air  she  said : 

"  How  can  you,  George,  when  you  know  the 
state  of  my  nerves  ?  " 

"  What  I  propose,  mamma,  will  cure  your  nerves 
and  everything  else,  for  it  is  nothing  less  than  a 
tour  through  Europe." 

There  was  a  shriek  of  delight  from  the  girls,  in 
which  even  the  exquisite  Laura  joined,  and  Mrs. 
Allen  was  trembling  with  excitement.  Apart  from 
the  trip  itself,  they  considered  it  a  sort  of  disgrace 
that  a  family  of  their  social  position  and  wealth 
had  never  been  abroad.  Therefore  the  announce- 
ment was  doubly  welcome.  Hitherto  Mr.  Allen's 
devotion  to  business  had  made  it  impossible,  and 
he  had  given  them  no  hint  of  the  near  consumma- 
tion of  their  wishes.  But  he  had  begun  to  feel  the 
need  of  change  and  rest  himself,  and  this  weighed 
more  with  him  than  all  their  entreaties. 

In  a  moment  Zell  had  her  arms  about  his  neck, 
and  her  sisters  were  throwing  him  kisses  across 
the  table.  His  wife,  looking  unusually  gratified 
said : 

"  You  are  a  sensible  man  at  last,"  which  was  a 
great  deal  for  Mrs.  Allen  to  say. 

"  Why  mamma"  exclaimed  her  husband,  eleva- 
ting his  eyebrows  in  comic  surprise,  "  that  I  should 
live  to  hear  you  say  that  1 " 


Ig  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOt 

"  Now  don't  be  silly,"  she  replied,  joining 
slightly  in  the  laugh  at  her  expense,  "or  we  shall 
think  that  you  have  taken  too  much  champagne, 
and  that  this  Europe  business  is  all  a  hoax." 

"  Wait  till  you  have  been  outside  of  Sandy 
Hook  an  hour,  and  you  will  find  everything  real 
enough  then.  I  think  I  see  the  elegant  ladies  of 
my  household  about  that  time." 

"  For  shame,  papa,  what  an  uncomfortable  sug- 
gestion over  a  dinner  table,"  said  the  fastidious 
Laura.  "  Picture  the  ladies  of  your  household  in 
the  salons  of  Paris.  I  promise  we  will  do  you 
credit  there." 

"  I  hope  so,  for  I  fear  I  shall  have  need  of  credit 
when  you  all  reach  that  Mecca  of  women." 

"  It's  no  more  the  Mecca  of  women  than  Wall 
street  is  the  Jerusalem  of  men.  What  you  are  all 
going  to  do  in  Heaven  without  Wall  street,  I 
don't  see." 

Her  husband  gave  his  significant  shrug  and 
said,  "  I  don't  meet  notes  till  they  are  due,''  which 
was  his  way  of  saying:  "  Sufficient  unto  the  day  is 
the  evil  thereof." 

"  The  salons  of  Paris  1"  said  Edith,  with  some 
disdain.  Think  of  the  scenery,  the  orange-groves, 
and  vineyards  that  we  shall  see,  the  Alpine 
flowers — " 

"  I  declare,"  interrupt  ed  Zell,  "  I  believe  that 
Edith  would  rather  see  a  grape  vine  and  orange 
tree,  than  all  the  toilets  of  Paris." 

"  I  shall  enjoy  seeing    both,"  was  the   reply, 


A  FUTURE  OF  HUMAN  DESIGNING.  jg 

"  and  so  have  the  advantage  of  you  in  having  two 
strings  to  my  bow." 

"  By  the  way,  that  reminds  me  to  ask  how 
many  beaux  you  now  have  on  the  string,"  said 
her  father. 

Edith  tossed  her  head  with  a  pretty  blush  and 
said  :  "  Pity  me,  my  father,  you  know  I  am  always 
poor  at  arithmetic." 

"  You  will  take  up  with  a  crooked  stick  after 
all.  Now  Laura  is  a. sensible  girl,  like  her  mother, 
and  has  picked  out  one  of  the  richest,  longest- 
headed  fellows  on  the  street." 

"  Indeed  !  "  said  his  wife.  "  I  do  not  see  but 
you  are  paying  yourself  a  greater  compliment  than 
either  Laura  or  me." 

"  Oh  no,  mere  business  statement.  Laura 
means  business,  and  so  does  Mr.  Goulden." 

Laura  looked  annoyed  and  said, — 

"  Pa,  I  thought  you  never  talked  business  at 
home." 

"  Oh  this  is  a  feminine  phase  that  women  under- 
stand.  I  want  your  sisters  to  profit  by  your  good 
example." 

"  I  shall  marry  an  Italian  Count,"  cried  Zell. 

"  Who  will  turn  out  a  fourth-rate  Italian  barber, 
and  I  shall  have  to  support  you  both.  But  I  won't 
do  it.  You  would  have  to  help  him  shave." 

"  No,  I  should  transform  him  into  a  leader  of 
banditti,  and  we  would  live  in  princely  state  in  the 
Apennines.  Then  we  would  capture  you,  papa,  and 
carry  you  off  to  the  mountains,  and  I  would  be 


2Q  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DO t 

your  jailer,  and  give  you  nothing  but  turtle  soup 
champagne  and  kisses,  till  you  paid  a  ransom  that 
would  break  Wall  street." 

"  I  would  not  pay  a  cent,  b  at  stay  and  eat  you 
out  of  house  and  home." 

"I  never  expect  to  marry, ''  said  Edith,  "but 
some  day  I  am  going  to  commence  saving  my 
money — now  don't  laugh,  papa,  for  I  could  be  eco- 
nomical if  I  once  made  up  my  mind'' — and  the  pret- 
ty head  gave  a  decisive  little  nod.  "  I  am  going  to 
save  my  money  and  buy  a  beautiful  place  in  the 
country  and  make  it  as  near  like  the  garden  of 
Eden  as  possible." 

"  Snakes  will  get  into  it  as  of  old,"  was  Mrs 
Allen's  cynical  remark. 

"  Yes,  that  is  woman's  experience  with  a  gar- 
den," said  her  husband  with  a  mock  sigh. 

Popping  off  the  cork  of  another  bottle,  he  add- 
ed, "  I  have  got  ahead  of  you,  Edith.  I  own  a 
place  in  the  country,  much  as  I  dislike  that  kind  of 
property.  I  had  to  take  it  to-day  in  a  trade,  and 
so  am  a  landholder  in  Pushton, — prospect,  you  see, 
of  my  becoming  a  rural  gentleman  (Squire  is  the 
title,  I  believe),  and  of  exchanging  stock  in  Wall 
street  for  the  stock  of  a  farm.  Here's  to  my  es- 
tate of  three  acres  with  a  story  and  a  half  mansion 
upon  it !  Perhaps  you  would  rather  go  up  there 
this  summer  than  to  Paris,  my  dear?'5  to  his  wife. 

Mrs.  Allen  gave  a  contemptuous  shrug  as  if  the 
jest  were  too  preposterous  to  be  answered,  bu* 
Edith  cried. — 


A  FUTURE  OP  HUMAN  DESIGNING.  2l 

"  Fill  my  glass ;  I  will  drink  to  your  country 
(jlace.  I  know  the  cottage  is  a  sweet  rustic  little 
box,  all  smothered  with  vines  and  roses  like  one  I 
saw  last  June."  Then  she  added  in  sport,  "  I  wish 
you  would  give  it  to  me  for  my  birthday  present. 
It  would  make  such  a  nice  porter's  lodge  at  the 
entrance  to  my  future  Eden." 

"  Are  you  in  earnest  ?  "  asked  the  father  sud- 
denly. 

Both  were  excited  by  the  wine  they  had 
drank.  She  glanced  at  her  father,  and  saw  that 
he  was  in  a  mood  to  say  yes  to  anything,  and 
quick  as  thought,  she  determined  to  get  the  place, 
if  possible. 

"  Of  course  I  am.  I  would  rather  have  it  than 
all  the  jewelry  in  New  York,"  (she  was  over-sup- 
plied with  that  style  of  gifts.) 

"  You  shall  have  it  then,  for  I  am  sure  I  don't 
want  it,  and  am  devoutly  thankful  to  be  rid  of  it." 

Edith  clapped  her  hands  with  a  delight  scarcely 
less  demonstrative  than  that  of  Zell  in  her  wildest 
moods. 

"  Nonsense,"  said  Mrs.  Allen,  "  the  idea  of  giv- 
ing a  young  lady  such  an  elephant." 

"  But  remember,"  continued  her  father,  "  you 
must  manage  it  yourself,  pay  the  taxes,  keep  it  re- 
paired, insured,  etc.  There  is  a  first-class  summer 
hotel  near  it.  Next  year,  after  we  get  back  from 
Europe,  we  will  go  up  there  and  stay  awhile. 
You  shall  then  take  possession,  employ  an  agent 
to  take  care  of  it,  who  by  the  way  will  cheat  yon 


22  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOt 

to  your  heart  s  content.  I  will  wager  you  a  box 
of  g!.oves,  that  before  a  year  passes,  you  will  try  to 
sell  the  ivy-twined  cottage  for  anything  you  can 
get,  and  will  be  thoroughly  cured  of  your  mania 
for  country  life." 

•'  I'll  take  you  up,"  said  Edith,  in  great  excite- 
meat, "  but  remember,  I  want  my  deed  on  my  birth- 
day." 

*'  All  right,"  said  Mr.  Allen,  laughing.  "  I  will 
transfer  it  to  you  to-morrow,  while  I  think  of  it. 
But  don't  try  to  trade  it  off  to  me  before  next  month 
for  a  new  dress." 

Edith  was  half  wild  over  her  present.  Many 
and  varied  were  her  questions,  but  her  father  only 
said, — 

"  I  don't  know  much  about  it.  I  did  not  listen 
to  half  the  man  said,  but  I  remember  he  stated 
there  was  a  good  deal  of  fruit  on  the  place,  for  it 
made  me  think  of  you  at  the  time.  Bless  you,  I 
could  not  stop  for  such  small  game.  I  am  negotia- 
ting a  large  and  promising  operation  which  you 
understand  about  as  well  as  farming.  It  will  take 
some  time  to  carry  it  through,  but  when  finished, 
we  will  start  for  the  '  salons  of  Paris.'  " 

"  I  half  believe,"  said  Laura,  with  a  covert 
sneer,  "  that  Edith  would  rather  go  up  to  her  farm 
of  three  acres." 

"  I  am  well  satisfied  as  papa  has  arranged  it,'* 
said  the  practical  girl.  "  Every  thing  in  its  place 
and  get  all  out  of  life  you  can,  is  my  creed." 

"  That  means,  get  all  out  of  me  you  can,  don't 


A  FUTURE  OF  HUMAN  DESIGNING.  23 

it,   sly  puss,"   laughed  the   father,  well    pleased, 
though,  with  the  worldly  wisdom  of  the  speech. 

"  Kisses,  kisses,  unlimited  kisses,  and  consider 
yourself  well  repaid,"  was  the  arch  rejoinder;  and 
not  a  few  looking  at  her  as  she  then  appeared,  but 
would  have  coveted  such  bargains.  So  her  father 
seemed  to  think  as  he  gazed  admiringly  at  her. 

But  something  in  Zell's  pouting  lips  and  vexed 
expression  caught  his  eye,  and  he  said  good  na- 
turedly, — 

"  Heigho,  youngster,  what  has  brought  a  thun- 
der-cloud across  your  saucy  face?" 

"  In  providing  for  birthdays  to  come,  I  gue^s 
you  have  forgotten  your  baby's  birthday  present.'* 

"  Come  here,  you  envious  elf,"  said  her  father, 
taking  something  from  his  pocket.  Like  light  she 
flashed  out  from  under  the  cloud  and  was  at  his 
side  in  an  instant,  dimpling,  smiling,  and  twinkling 
with  expectation,  her  black  eyes  as  quick  and  rest- 
less as  her  father  was  deliberate  and  slow  in  undo- 
ing a  dainty  parcel. 

"  O,  George,  do  be  quick  about  it,  or  Zell  will 
explode.  You  both  make  me  nervous,'5  said  Mrs. 
Allen  fretfully. 

Suddenly  pressing  open  a  velvet  casket,  Mr.  Al- 
len hung  a  jewelled  watch  with  a  long  gold  chain 
about  his  favorite's  neck,  while  she  improvised  a 
hornpipe  around  his  chair. 

-"  There,"  said  he,  "  is  something  that  is  worth 
more  than   Edith's    farm,   tumble- down    cottage, 


X|  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DOt 

roses  and  all.  So  remember  that  those  lips  were 
made  to  kiss,  not  to  pout  with." 

Zell  put  her  lips  to  proper  uses  to  that  extent 
that  Mrs.  Allen  began  to  grow  jealous,  nervous, 
and  out  of  sorts  generally,  and  having  finished  her 
chocolate,  rose  feebly  from  the  table.  Her  hus- 
band offered  his  arm  and  the  family  dinner  party 
broke  up. 

And  yet,  take  it  altogether,  each  one  was  in 
higher  spirits  than  usual,  and  Zell  and  Edith  in  a 
state  of  positive  delight.  They  had  received  costly 
gifts  that  specially  gratified  their  peculiar  tastes, 
and  these,  with  the  promise  of  a  grand  party,  a 
trip  to  Europe,  youthful  buoyancy  and  champagne, 
so  dilated  their  little  feminine  souls,  that  Mrs.  Al- 
len's fears  of  an  explosion  of  some  kind  were  scarce- 
ly groundless.  They  dragged  their  stately  sister 
Laura,  now  unwontedly  bland  and  affable,  to  the 
piano,  and  called  for  the  quickest  and  most  brill- 
iant of  waltzes,  and  a  moment  later  their  lithe  fig- 
ures flowed  away  into  the  rhythm  of  motion,  that 
from  their  exuberance  of  feeling,  was  as  fantastic 
as  it  was  graceful. 

Mr.  Allen  assisted  his  wife  to  her  room  and 
soon  left  her  in  an  unusually  contented  frame  of 
mind  to  develop  strategy  for  the  coming  party. 
Mrs.  Allen's  nerves  utterly  incapacitated  her  for  the 
care  of  her  household,  attendance  upon  church,  and 
such  humdrum  matters,  but  in  view  of  a  great  oc- 
casion like  a  "  grand  crush  ball  "  where  among  the 
luminaries  of  fashion  she  could  become  the  reful- 


A  FUTURE  OF  HUMAN  DESIGNING.  2$ 

gent  centre  of  a  constellation  which  her  fair  daugh- 
ters would  make  around  her,  her  spirit  rose  to  the 
emergency.  When  it  came  to  dress  and  dressmakers 
and  all  the  complications  of  the  campaign  now 
opening,  notwithstanding  her  nerves,  she  could  be 
quite  Napoleonic. 

Her  husband  retired  to  the  library,  lighted  a 
choice  Havana,  skimmed  his  evening  papers,  and 
then  as  usual,  went  to  his  club. 

This,  as  a  general  thing,  was  the  extent  of  the 
library's  literary  uses.  The  best  authors  in  gold 
and  Russia  smiled  down  from  the  black  walnut 
shelves,  but  the  books  were  present  rather  as  fur- 
niture than  from  any  intrinsic  value  in  themselves 
to  the  family.  They  were  given  prominence  on  the 
same  principle  that  Mrs.  Allen  sought  to  give  a 
certain  tone  to  her  entertainments  by  inviting  many 
literary  and  scientific  men.  She  might  be  unable 
to  appreciate  the  works  of  the  savans,  but  as  they 
appreciated  the  labors  of  her  masterly  French  cook, 
many  compromised  the  matter  by  eating  the  petit 
soupers,  and  shrugging  their  shoulders  over  the 
entertainers. 

And  yet  the  Aliens  were  anything  but  vulgar 
upstarts.  Both  husband  and  wife  were  descended 
from  old  and  wealthy  New  York  families.  They 
had  all  the  polish  which  life-long  association  with 
the  fashionable  world  bestows.  What  was  more, 
they  were  highly  intelligent,  and  in  their  own  sphere, 
gifted  people.  Mr.  Allen  was  a  leader  in  business 
in  one  of  the  chief  commercial  centres,  and  to 
a 


26  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOt 

lead  in  legitimate  business  in  our  day  requires  as 
much  ability,  indeed  we  may  say  genius,  as  to 
lead  in  any  other  department  of  life.  He  would 
have  shown  no  more  ignorance  in  the  study,  studio, 
and  laboratory,  than  their  occupants  would  have 
shown  in  the  counting  room.  That  to  which  he  de- 
voted his  energies  he  had  become  a  master  in.  It  is 
true  he  had  narrowed  down  his  life  to  little  else  than 
business.  He  had  never  acquired  a  taste  for  art  and 
literature,  nor  had  he  given  himself  time  for  broad 
culture.  But  we  meet  narrow  artists,  narrow  clergy- 
men, narrow  scientists  just  as  truly.  If  you  do 
not  get  on  their  hobby,  and  ride  with  them,  they 
seem  disposed  to  ride  over  you.  Indeed,  in  our 
brief  life  with  its  fierce  competitions,  few  other 
than  what  are  known  as  "one  idea"  men  have  time 
to  succeed.  Even  genius  must  drive  with  tre- 
mendous and  concentrated  energy,  to  distance 
competitors.  Mr.  Allen  was  quite  as  great  in  his 
department  as  any  of  the  lions  that  his  wife  lured 
into  her  parlors  were  in  theirs. 

Mrs.  Allen  was  also  a  leader  in  her  own  chosen 
sphere,  or  rather  in  the  one  to  which  she  had 
been  educated.  Given  a  carte  blanche  in  the 
way  of  expense,  few  could  surpass  her  in  producing 
a  brilliant,  dazzling  entertainment.  The  coloring 
and  decorations  of  her  rooms  would  not  be  more 
rich,  varied,  or  in  better  taste,  than  the  diversity, 
and  yet  harmony  of  the  people  she  would  bring 
together  by  her  adroit  selections.  She  had  studied 
society,  and  for  it  she  lived,  not  to  make  it  better 


A  FUTUXE  OF  HUMAN  DESIGNING.  2? 

not  to  elevate  its  character,  and  tone  down  its  ex- 
travagances, but  simply  to  shine  in  it,  to  be  talked 
'  about  and  envied. 

Both  husband  and  wife  had  achieved  no  small 
success,  and  to  succeed  in  such  a  city  as  New  York 
in  their  chosen  departments  required  a  certain 
amount  of  genius.  The  savans  had  a  general  ad- 
miration for  Mrs.  Allen's  style  and  taste,  but  found 
on  the  social  exchange  of  her  parlors,  she  had  noth- 
ing to  offer  but  fashion's  smallest  chit-chat.  They 
had  a  certain  respect  for  Mr.  Allen's  wealth  and 
business  power,  but  having  discussed  the  news  of 
the  day,  they  passed  on,  and  the  people  during  the 
intervals  of  dancing,  drifted  into  congenial  schools 
and  shoals,  like  fish  in  a  shallow  lake.  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Allen  had  a  vague  admiration  for  the  learning  of 
the  scholars,  and  culture  of  the  artists,  but  would 
infinitely  prefer  marrying  their  daughters  to  down- 
town merchant  princes. 

Take  the  world  over,  perhaps  all  classes  of  peo- 
ple are  despising  others  quite  as  much  as  they  are 
despised  themselves. 

But  when  the  French  cook  appeared  upon  the 
scene,  then  was  produced  your  true  democracy. 
Then  was  shown  a  phase  of  life  into  which  all 
entered  with  a  zest  that  proved  the  common  tie 
of  humanity. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THREE  MEN? 

"\XTHILE  Mrs.  Allen  was  planning  the  social 
pyrotechnics  that  should  dazzle  the  fashion- 
able world,  Edith  and  Zell  were  working  off  their 
exuberant  spirits  in  the  manner  described  in  the 
last  chapter,  ai\d  which  was  as  natural  to  their  city- 
bred  feet  as  a  wild  romp  to  a  country  girl. 

The  brilliant  notes  of  the  piano  and  the  rustle 
of  their  silks  had  rendered  them  oblivious  of  the 
fact  that  the  door-bell  had  rung  twice,  and  that 
three  gentlemen  were  peering  curiously  through  the 
half  open  door.  They  were  evidently  at  home  as 
frequent  and  favored  visitors,  and  had  motioned 
the  old  colored  waiter  not  to  announce  them,  and 
he  reluctantly  obeyed. 

For  a  moment  they  feasted  their  eyes  on  the 
scene  as  the  two  girls,  with  twining  arms  and  many 
innovations  on  the  regular  step,  whirled  through 
the  rooms,  and  then  Zell's  quick  eye  detected 
them. 

Pouncing  down  upon  the  eldest  gentleman  of 
the  party,  she  dragged  him  from  his  ambush,  while 
the  others  also  entered.  One  who  was  quite  young 
approached  the  blushing,  panting  Edith  with  an 
almost  boyish  confidence  of  manner,  as  if  assured 


THREE  MEN.  29 

of  a  welcome,  \\hile  the  remaining  gentleman,  who 
•vas  verging  toward  middle  age,  quietly  glided  to 
the  piano  and  gave  his  hand  to  Laura,  who  greeted 
him  with  a  cordiality  scarcely  to  be  expected  from 
so  stately  a  young  lady. 

The  laws  of  affinity  and  selection  had  evidently 
been  developed  here,  and  as  the  reader  must  sur 
mise,  long  previous  acquaintance  had  led  to  the 
present  easy  and  intimate  relations. 

"  What  do  you  mean,"  cried  Zell,  dragging 
under  the  gaslight  her  cavalier,  who  assumed  much 
penitence  and  fear,  "  by  thus  rudely  and  abruptly 
breaking  in  upon  the  retirement  of  three  secluded 
females?" 

"  At  their  devotions,"  added  the  cynical  voice 
of  the  gentleman  at  the  piano,  who  was  no  other 
than  Mr.  Goulden,  Laura's  admirer. 

Zell's  attendant  threw  himself  in  the  attitude 
of  a  suppliant  and  said  deprecatingly, — 

"  Nay,  but  we  are  astronomers." 

"  That's  a  fib,  and  not  a  very  white  one  either,' 
she  retorted,  "  I  don't  believe  you  ever  look  to- 
wards heaven  for  anything." 

11  What  need  of  looking  thither  for  heavenly 
bodies,"  he  replied  in  a  low,  meaning  tone,  regard- 
ing with  undisguised  admiration  her  glowing  cheeks. 
"  Moreover  I  don't  believe  in  telescopic  distances," 
he  continued,  with  a  half-made  motion  to  put  bis 
arm  around  her  waist. 

"  Come,"  she  said,  pirouetting  out  of  his  reach, 


30  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOt 

M  remember  I  am  no  longer  a  child,  I  am  seventeen 
to-day." 

"  Would  that  you  might  never  be  a  day  older 
in  appearance  and  feelings." 

"Are  you  willing  to  leave  me  so  far  behind?" 
she  asked  with  some  maliciousness. 

"  No,  but  you  would  make  me  a  boy  again.  If 
old  Ponce  de  Leon  had  met  a  Miss  Zell,  he  would 
soon  have  forsaken  the  swamps  and  alligators  of 
Florida." 

"  O  what  a  watery,  scaly  compliment.  Pre- 
ferred to  swamps  and  alligators!  Who  would 
have  believed  it  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  blind  to  your  pretty  wilful  blindness. 
You  know  I  likened  you  to  something  too  divine 
and  precious  to  be  found  on  earth." 

"  Which  is  still  true  in  the  carrying  out  of  your 
marvellously  mixed  metaphors.  I  must  lend  you 
my  rhetoric  book.  But  as  your  meaning  dawns  on 
me,  I  see  that  you  are  symbolized  by  old  Ponce. 
I  shall  look  in  the  history  for  the  age  of  the  ancient 
Spaniard  to-morrow  and  then  I  shall  know  how  old 
you  are,  a  thing  I  could  never  find  out." 

As  with  little  jets  of  silvery  laughter  and  butter- 
fly motion  she  hovered  round  him,  the  very  em- 
bodiment of  life  and  beautiful  youth,  she  woulA 
have  made,  to  an  artist's  eye,  a  very  true  idealiza- 
tion of  the  far-famed  mythical  fountain. 

And  yet  as  a  moment  later  she  confidingly  took 
his  arm  and  strolled  toward  the  library,  it  was  evi- 
dent  that  all  her  flutter  and  hesitancy,  her  seeming 


THREE  MEN.  j| 

freedom  and  mimic  show  of  war,  was  like  that  of 
some  bright  tropical  bird  fascinated  by  a  remorse- 
less  serpent  whose  intent  eyes  and  deadly  purpose 
are  creating  a  spell  that  cannot  be  resisted. 

Mr.  Van  Dam,  upon  whose  arm  she  was  leaning, 
was  one  of  the  worst  products  of  artificial  metro- 
politan life.  He  had  inherited  a  name  which 
ancestry  had  rendered  honorable,  but  which  he  to 
the  utmost  dishonored,  and  yet  so  adroitly,  so 
shrewdly  respecting  fashion's  code,  though  shun- 
ning nothing  wrong,  that  he  did  not  lose  the  entre'e 
into  the  gilded  homes  of  those  who  call  themselves, 
"  the  best  society." 

True,  it  was  whispered  that  he  was  rather  fast, 
that  he  played  heavily  and  a  trifle  too  successfully, 
and  that  he  lived  the  life  of  anything  but  a  saint 
at  his  luxurious  rooms.  "  But  then,"  continued 
society,  openly  and  complaisantly,  "  he  is  so  fine 
looking,  so  courtly  and  polished,  so  well-connected, 
and  what  is  still  more  to  the  point,  my  dear,  he  is 
reputed  to  be  immensely  wealthy,  so  we  must  not 
heed  these  rumors.  After  all  it  is  the  way  of  these 
young  men  of  the  world.'' 

Thus  "the  best  society"  that  would  have 
politely  frozen  out  of  its  parlors  the  Chevalier 
Bayard,  "  sans  peur  et  sans  reproached  had  he  not 
appeared  in  the  latest  style,  with  golden  fame 
rather  than  golden  spurs,  welcomed  Mr.  Van  Dam. 
Indeed  not  a  few  forced  exotic  belles,  who  had  pre- 
maturely developed  in  the  hot  house  atmosphere 
of  wealth  and  extravagance  regarded  him  as  a 


33  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOt 

sort  of  social  lion,  and  his  reticence,  with  a  certain 
mystery  in  which  he  shrouded  his  evil  life,  made 
him  all  the  more  fascinating.  He  was  past  the 
prime  of  life,  though  exceedingly  well  preserved, 
for  he  was  one  of  those  cool,  deliberate  votaries  of 
pleasure  that  reduce  amusement  to  a  science,  and 
carefully  shun  all  injurious  excess.  While  exceed- 
ingly deferential  toward  the  sex  in  general,  and 
bestowing  compliments  and  attentions  as  adroitly 
as  a  financier  would  place  his  money,  he  at  the 
same  time  permitted  the  impression  to  grow  that 
he  was  extremely  fastidious  in  his  taste,  and  had 
never  married  because  it  had  never  been  his  for- 
tune to  meet  the  faultless  being  who  could  fill  his 
exacting  eyes.  Any  special  and  continued  admi- 
ration on  his  part  therefore  made  its  recipient  an 
object  of  distinction  and  envy  to  very  many  in  the 
unreal  world  in  which  he  glided  serpent-like,  rather 
than  moved  as  a  man.  To  morbid  unhealthful 
minds  the  rumors  of  his  evil  deeds  became  piquant 
eccentricities,  and  the  whispers  of  the  oriental 
orgies  that  were  said  to  take  place  in  his  bachelor 
apartments  made  him  an  object  of  a  curious  inter- 
est, and  many  sighed  for  the  opportunity  of  reform 
ing  so  distinguished  a  sybarite. 

On  Edith's  entrance  into  society  he  had  been 
much  impressed  by  her  beauty,  and  had  gradually 
grown  quite  attentive,  equally  attracted  by  her 
father's  wealth.  But  she,  though  with  no  clear 
perception  of  his  character,  and  with  no  higher 
moral  standard  than  her  set,  instinctively  shrank 


'   THREE  MEN.  33 

from  the  man.  Indeed,  in  some  respects,  they 
were  too  much  alike  for  that  mysterious  attraction 
that  so  often  occurs  between  opposites.  Not  that 
she  had  his  unnatural  depravity,  but  like  him  she 
was  shrewd,  practical,  resolute,  and  controlled  more 
by  her  judgment  than  impulses.  Her  vanity,  of 
which  she  had  no  little  share,  led  her  to  accept  his 
attentions  to  a  certain  point,  but  the  keen  man  of 
the  world  soon  saw  that  his  "  little  game,"  as  in 
his  own  vernacular  he  styled  it,  would  not  be  suc- 
cessful, and  he  was  the  last  one  to  sigh  in  vain  or 
mope  an  hour  in  love-lorn  melancholy.  While 
ceasing  to  press  his  suit,  he  remained  a  frequent 
and  familiar  visitor  at  the  house,  and  thus  his 
attention  was  drawn  to  Zell,  who,  though  young, 
had  developed  early  in  the  stimulating  atmosphere 
in  which  she  lived.  At  first  he  petted  and  played 
with  her  as  a  child,  as  she  wilfully  flitted  in  and 
out  of  the  parlors,  whether  her  sisters  wanted  her 
or  not.  He  continually  brought  her  bonbons  and 
like  fanciful  trifles,  till  at  last,  in  jest,  the  family 
called  him  Zell's  "  ancient  beau." 

But  during  the  past  year  it  dawned  on  him 
that  the  child  he  petted  on  account  of  her  beauty 
and  sprightliness  was  rapidly  becoming  a  brilliant 
woman,  who  would  make  a  wife  far  more  to  his 
taste  than  her  equally  beautiful  but  matter-of-fact 
sister.  Therefore  he  warily,  so  as  not  to  alarm 
the  -jealous  father,  but  with  all  the  subtle  skill  of 
which  he  was  master,  sought  to  win  her  affections 


34  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DO  f 

knowing  that  she  would  have  her  own  way  when 
she  knew  what  way  she  wanted. 

For  Zell  this  unscrupulous  man  had  a  peculiar 
fascination.  He  petted  and  flattered  her  to  her 
heart's  content,  and  thus  made  her  the  envy  of  her 
young  acquaintances,  which  was  incense  indeed  to 
her  vain  little  soul.  He  never  lectured  or  preached 
to  her  on  account  of  her  follies  and  nonsense,  as 
her  elderly  friends  usually  did,  but  gave  to  her  wild, 
impulsive  moods  free  rein.  Where  a  true  friend 
would  have  cautioned  and  curbed,  he  applauded 
and  incited,  causing  Zell  to  mistake  extravagance 
in  language  and  boldness  in  manner  for  spirit  and 
brilliancy.  Laura  and  Edith  often  remonstrated 
with  her,  but  she  did  not  heed  them.  Indeed,  she 
feared  no  one  save  her  father,  and  Mr.  Van  Dam 
was  propriety  itself  when  he  was  present,  which 
was  but  seldom.  Between  his  business  and  club, 
and  Mrs.  Allen's  nerves,  the  girls  were  left  mainly 
to  themselves. 

What  wonder  that  there  are  so  many  ship- 
wrecks, when  young,  heedless,  inexperienced  hands 
must  steer,  unguided,  through  the  most  perilous 
and  treacherous  of  seas  ? 

Mr.  Allen's  elegant  costly  home  was  literally 
an  unguarded  fold,  many  a  laborer,  living  in  a  ten 
ement  house,  doing  more  to  shield  his  daughters 
from  the  evil  of  the  world. 

To  Mr.  Van  Dam,  Zell  was  a  perfect  prize. 
Though  he  had  sipped  at  the  cup  of  pleasure  so 
leisurely  and  systematically,  he  was  getting  down 


THREE  MEN.  35 

to  the  dregs.  His  taste  was  becoming  palled  and 
satiety  burdening  him  with  its  leaden  weight.  Rut 
as  the  child  he  petted  developed  daily  into  a  wom- 
an, he  became  interested,  then  fascinated  by  the 
process.  Her  beauty  was  so  brilliant,  her  exces- 
sive sprightliness  so  contagious,  that  he  felt  his 
sluggish  pulses  stir  and  tingle  with  excitement  the 
moment  he  came  into  her  presence.  Her  wild 
varying  moods  kept  him  constantly  on  theguivive, 
and  he  would  say  in  confidence  to  one  of  his  inti- 
mate cronies, — 

"  The  point  is,  Hal,  she  is  such  a  spicy,  piquant 
contrast  to  the  insipid  society  girls,  who  have  no 
more  individuality  than  fashion  blocks  in  Broadway 
windows.'' 

He  liked  the  kittenish  young  creature  all  the 
more  because  her  repartee  was  often  a  little  cutting. 
If  she  had  always  struck  him  with  a  velvet  paw, 
the  thing  would  have  grown  monotonous,  but  he 
occasionally  got  a  scratch  that  made  him  wince, 
cool  and  brazen  as  he  was.  But  after  all,  he  daily 
saw  that  he  was  gaining  power  over  her,  and  the 
manner  in  which  the  frank-hearted  girl  took  his 
arm  and  leaned  upon  it,  spoke  volumes  to  the  ex- 
perienced man.  While  he  habitually  wore  a  mask, 
Zell  could  conceal  nothing,  and  across  her  April 
face  flitted  her  innermost  thoughts. 

If  she  had  had  a  mot/ier,  she  might,  even  in  the 
wilderness  of  earth,  have  become  a  blossom  fit  fof 
heavenly  gardens,  but  as  it  was,  her  wayward  na- 
ture so  full  of  dangerous  beauty,  was  left  to  run  wild, 


56  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOt 

Edith  was  beginning  to  be  troubled  at  Zell's 
intimacy  with  Mr.  Van  Dam,  and  had  conceived  a 
growing  suspicion  and  dislike  for  him.  As  for 
I^aura,  the  eldest,  she  was  like  her  mother,  too 
much  wrapped  up  in  herself,  to  have  many 
thoughts  for  any  one  else,  and  they  all  regarded 
Zell  as  a  mere  child  still.  Mr.  Allen,  who  would 
have  been  very  anxious  had  Zell  been  receiving 
the  attentions  of  some  penniless  young  clerk  or  art- 
ist laughed  at  her  "flirtation  with  old  Van  Dam" 
as  -in  eminently  safe  affair. 

But  on  the  present  evening  her  sisters  were  too 
mi'ch  occupied  with  their  own  friends  to  give  Zell 
or  her  dangerous  admirer  much  attention.  As  yet 
no  formal  engagement  had  bound  any  of  them,  but 
an  intimacy  and  mutual  liking  tending  to  such  a 
rer ult,  was  rapidly  growing. 

In  Edith's  case  the  attraction  of  contrasts  was 
again  shown.  Augustus  Elliot,  the  youth  who 
ftad  approached  her  with  such  confidence  and 
grace,  was  quite  as  stylish  a  personage  as  herself, 
and  that  was  saying  a  great  deal.  But  every  line 
of  his  full  handsome  face,  as  well  as  the  expression 
of  his  light  blue  eyes,  showed  that  she  had  more 
decision  in  her  little  finger  than  he  in  the  whole  of 
his  luxurious  nature.  Self-pleasing,  self-indulgence, 
good-natured  vanity  were  unmistakably  his  charac- 
teristics. To  yield,  not  for  the  good  of  others,  but 
because  not  strong  enough  to  stand  sturdily  alone, 
was  the  law  of  his  being.  If  he  could  ever  have 
been  kept  under  the  influence  of  good  and  strongef 


THREE  MEN.  yj 

natures,  who  would  have  developed  his  naturally 
kind  heart  and  good  impulses  into  something  like 
principle,  he  might  have  had  a  safe  and  creditable 
career.  But  he  was  the  idol  of  a  foolish,  fashiona- 
ble mother,  and  the  pet  of  two  or  three  sisters 
who  were  empty-brained  enough  to  think  their 
handsome  brother  the  perfection  of  mankind ;  and 
by  eye,  manner,  and  often  the  plainest  words,  they 
told  him  as  much,  and  he  had  at  last  come  to 
believe  them.  Why  should  they  not  ?  He  was 
faultless  in  his  own  dress,  faultless  in  his  criticism 
of  a  lady's  dress,  taking  the  prevailing  fashion  as 
the  standard.  He  was  perfectly  versed  in  the 
polite  slang  of  the  day.  He  scented  and  announced 
the  slightest  change  in  the  mode  afar  off,  so  that 
his  elegant  sisters  could  appear  on  the  Avenue  in 
advance  of  the  other  fashion-plates.  As  they 
sailed  away  on  a  sunny  afternoon  in  their  gorgeous 
plumage,  the  envy  of  many  a  competing  belle,  they 
would  say, — 

"  Isn't  he  a  duck  of  a  brother  to  give  us  a  hint 
of  a  change  so  early.  After  all  there  is  no  eye  or 
taste  like  that  of  man  when  once  perfected." 

And  then  they  knew  him  to  be  equally  au  fail 
on  the  flavor  of  wines,  the  points  of  horses,  the 
merits  of  every  watering  place  and  all  the  other 
lore  which  in  their  world  gave  pre-eminence.  They 
had  been  educated  to  have  no  other  ideal  of  man- 
hood, and  if  an  earnest,  straight-forward  man,  with 
a  purpose,  had  spoken  out  before  them,  they  would 
have  regarded  him  as  an  uncouth  monster. 


^g  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOt 

Notwithstanding  all  his  vanity,  "  Gus  "  as  he 
was  familiarly  called,  was  a  very  weak  man,  and 
though  he  would  not  acknowledge  it,  even  to  him 
self,  instinctively  recognized  the  fact.  He  coritinu 
ally  attached  himself  to  strong,  resolute  natures, 
and  where  it  was  adroitly  done,  could  easily  be 
made  a  tool  of.  He  took  a  great  fancy  to  Edith 
from  the  first  hour  of  their  acquaintance,  and  she 
soon  obtained  a  strong  influence  over  him.  She 
as  instinctively  detected  his  yielding  disposition 
and  liked  him  the  better  for  it,  while  his  contagi- 
ous good-nature  and  abundant  supply  of  society 
talk,  made  him  a  general  favorite. 

When  every  one  whispered,  "  What  a  handsome 
couple  they  would  make,''  and  she  found  him  so 
looked  up  to  and  quoted  in  the  fashionable  world, 
she  began  to  entertain  quite  an  admiration  as  well 
as  liking  for  him,  though  she  saw  more  and  more 
clearly  that  there  was  nothing  in  him  that  she 
could  lean  upon. 

Gus'  parents,  who  knew  that  the  Aliens  were 
immensely  wealthy,  nrged  on  the  match,  but  Mr. 
Allen,  aware  that  the  Elliots  were  living  to  the  ex- 
tent of  their  means,  discouraged  it,  plainly  telling 
Edith  his  reasons. 

"  But,''  said  Edith,  at  the  same  time  showing 
her  heart  in  the  practical  suggestion,  "  could  not 
Gus  go  into  business  himself?" 

"The  worst  thing  he  could  do,"  said  the  keen 
Mr.  Allen.  "  He  kas  tried  it  a  few  times,  I  have 
learned,  but  has  not  one  business  qualification.  He 


THREE  MEN. 


39 


could  not  keep  himself  in  the  gold  tooth-picks  he 
sports.  His  mother  and  sisters  have  spoiled  him. 
He  is  nothing  but  a  society  man.  Mr.  Elliot  has 
not  a  word  to  say  at  home.  His  business  is  to  make 
money  for  them  to  spend,  and  a  tough  time  he  has 
to  keep  up  with  them.  You  girls  must  marry  men 
who  can  take  care  of  you,  unless  you  wish  to  sup- 
port your  husbands." 

Mr.  Allen's  verdict  was  true,  and  Edith  felt  that 
it  was.  When  a  boy,  Gus  could  get  out  of  lessons 
by  running  to  his  mother  with  the  plea  of  head- 
ache or  any  trifle,  and  in  youth  he  had  escaped 
business  in  like  manner.  His  father  had  tried  him 
a  few  times  in  his  office,  but  was  soon  glad  to  fall 
in  with  his  wife's  opinion,  that  her  son  "  had  too 
much  spirit  and  refinement  for  plodding  humdrum 
business,  that  he  was  a  born  gentleman  and  suited 
only  to  elegant  leisure,"  and  as  his  gentleman  son 
only  did  mischief  down-town,  the  poor  over-worked 
father  was  glad  to  have  him  out  of  the  way,  for  he 
with  difficulty  made  both  ends  meet,  as  it  was. 
Hoping  he  would  do  better  with  strangers,  he  had, 
by  personal  influence,  procured  him  situations 
elsewhere,  but  between  the  mother's  weakness  and 
the  young  man's  confirmed  habits  of  idleness,  it  al- 
ways ended  by  Gus  saying  to  his  employers, — 

"  I'm  going  off  on  a  little  trip — by-by,"  at 
which  they  gave  a  sigh  of  relief.  It  had  at  last  be- 
come a  recognized  fact,  that  Gus  must  marry  an 
heiress,  this  being  about  the  only  way  for  so  fine  a 
gentleman  to  achieve  the  fortune  that  he  could  not 


40  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DO 

stoop  to  toil  for.  As  he  admired  himself  complaf* 
santly  in  the  gilded  mirror  that  ornamented  his 
dressing-room,  he  felt  that  a  wise  selection  would 
be  his  o^ily  difficulty,  and  though  an  heiress  is 
something  of  a  rara  avis,  he  sternly  resolved  to  cage 
one  with  such  heavy  golden  plumage  that  even  his 
mother,  whom  no  one  satisfied  save  himself,  would 
give  a  sigh  of  perfect  content.  When  at  last  he  met 
Edith  Allen,  it  seemed  as  if  inclination  might  happi- 
ly blend  with  his  lofty  sense  of  duty,  and  he  soon 
became  Edith's  devoted  and  favored  attendant. 
And  yet,  as  we  have  seen,  our  heroine  was  not  the 
sentimental  style  of  girl  that  falls  hopelessly  and 
helplessly  in  love  with  a  man  for  some  occult  reason, 
not  even  known  to  herself,  and  who  mopes  and 
pines  till  she  is  permitted  to  marry  him,  be  he  fool, 
villain  or  saint.  Edith  was  fully  capable  of  appre- 
ciating and  weighing  her  father's  words,  and  under 
their  influence  about  decided  to  chill  her  handsome 
but  helpless  admirer  into  a  mere  passing  acquaint- 
ance ;  but  when  he  next  appeared  before  her  in  his 
uniform,  as  an  officer  in  one  of  the  "  crack "  city 
regiments,  her  eyes,  taste,  and  vanity,  and  some- 
how her  heart,  so  pleaded  for  him  that,  so  far 
from  being  an  icicle,  she  smiled  on  him  like  a  July 
sun. 

But  whenever  he  sought  to  press  his  suit  into 
something  definite,  she  evaded  and  shunned  the 
point,  as  only  a  feminine  diplomatist  can.  In  fact, 
Gus,  on  account  of  his  vanity,  was  not  a  very  urgent 
suitor,  as  the  idea  of  final  refusal  was  preposterous 


THREE  MEN.  $\ 

He  regarded  himself  as  virtually  accepted  already 
Meanwhile  Edith  for  once  in  her  life  was  playing 
the  role  of  Micawber,  and  "waiting  for  something 
to  turn  up."  And  something  had,  for  this  trip  to 
Europe  would  put  time  and  space  between  them, 
and  gently  cure  both  of  their  folly,  as  she  deemed 
it.  Folly  !  She  did  not  realize  that  Gus  regarded 
himself  as  acting  on  sound  business  principles,  and 
a  strong  sense  of  duty,  as  well  as  obeying  the  im- 
pulses of  what  heart  he  had.  The  sweet  approval 
of  conscience  and  judgment  attended  his  action, 
while  both  condemned  her. 

As  Gus  approached  this  evening,  she  felt  a  pang 
of  commiseration  that  not  only  her  father's  and 
her  own  disapproval,  but  soon  the  briny  ocean 
would  be  between  them,  and  she  was  unusually 
kind.  She  decided  to  play  with  her  poor  little 
mouse  till  the  last,  and  then  let  absence  remedy  all. 
Her  mind  was  quick,  if  not  very  profound. 

As  Mr.  Goulden  leaned  across  the  corner  of 
the  piano,  and  paid  the  blushing  Laura  some 
delicate  compliments,  one  could  not  but  think  of 
an  adroit  financier,  skilfully  placing  some  money. 
There  was  nothing  ardent,  nothing  incoherent  and 
lover-like,  in  his  carefully  modulated  tones,  and 
nicely  selected  words  that  might  mean  much  or 
little  as  he  might  afterwards  decide.  Mr.  Goulden 
always  knew  what  he  was  about,  as  truly  in  a 
lady's..boudoir,  as  in  Wall  street.  The  stately,  ele- 
gant  Laura  suited  his  tastes,  her  father's  financial 
status  had  suited  him  also.  But  he,  who,  through 


42  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DO 9 

his  agents,  knew  all  that  was  going  on  in  Wall  street, 
was  aware  that  Mr.  Allen  had  engaged  in  a  very 
heavy  speculation,  which,  though  promising  well  at 
the  time,  might,  by  some  unexpected  turn  of  the 
wheel,  wear  a  very  different  aspect.  He  would  see 
that  game  through  before  proceeding  with  his  own, 
and  in  the  meantime,  by  judicious  attention,  hold 
Laura  well  in  hand. 

In  that  brilliantly  lighted  parlor  none  of  these 
currents  and  counter  currents  were  apparent  on 
the  surface.  That  was  like  the  ripple  and  sparkle 
of  a  summer  sea  in  the  sunlight.  Every  year 
teaches  us  what  is  hidden  under  the  fair  but 
treacherous  seeming  of  life. 

The  young  ladies  were  now  satisfied  with  the 
company  they  had,  and  the  gentlemen,  as  can 
well  be  understood,  wished  no  farther  additions. 
Therefore  they  agreed  to  retire  to  the  library  for  a 
game  of  cards. 

"  Hannibal,"  said  Edith,  summoning  the  porten- 
tous colored  factotum  who  presided  over  the  front 
door  and  dining-room,  "  if  any  one  calls,  say  we 
are  out  or  engaged.'' 

That  solemn  dignitary  bowed  as  low  as  his  stiff 
white  collar  would  permit,  but  soliloquized, — 

"  I  guess  I  is  sumpen  too  black  to  tell  a  white 
lie,  so  I'se  say  dey  is  engaged." 

As  the  ladies  swept  away,  leaning  heavily  on 
the  arms  of  their  favored  gallants,  he  added,  with 
a  slight  grin  illumining  the  gravity  of  his  face.  "  I* 
looks  mighty  like  it." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  SKIES  DARKENING. 

'"THE  game  of  cards  fared  indifferently,  for  they 
were  all  too  intent  on  little  games  of  their 
own  to  give  close  attention.  Mr.  Van  Dam  won 
when  he  chose  and  gave  the  game  away  when  he 
chose,  but  made  Zell  think  the  skill  was  mainly 
hers. 

Still,  in  the  common  parlance,  they  had  a 
"  good  time."  From  such  clever  men  the  jests 
and  compliments  were  rather  better  than  usual, 
and  repartee  from  the  ruby  lips  that  smiled  upon 
them  could  not  seem  other  than  brilliant. 

Edith  soon  added  to  the  sources  of  enjoyment 
by  ordering  cake  and  wine,  for  though  not  the 
eldest  she  seemed  to  naturally  take  the  lead. 

Mr.  Goulden  drank  sparingly.  He  meant  that 
not  a  film  should  come  across  his  judgment.  Mr. 
Van  Dam  drank  freely,  but  he  was  seasoned  to 
more  fiery  potations  thaa  sherry.  Not  so  poor 
Gus,  who,  while  he  could  never  resist  the  wine, 
soon  felt  its  influence.  But  he  had  sufficient  con- 
trol never  to  go  beyond  the  point  of  tipsiness  that 
fashion  allows  in  the  drawing-room. 

Of  course  through  Zell's  unrestrained  Chattel 
the  recently  *^ade  plans  soon  came  out. 


44  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOt 

Adroit  Mr.  Van  Dam  turned  to  Zell  with  an 
expression  of  much  pleased  surprise  exclaiming  : 

"  How  fortunate  I  am  !  I  had  completed  my 
plans  to  go  abroad  some  little  time  since." 

Zell  clapped  her  hands  with  delight,  but  an  in- 
voluntary shadow  darkened  Edith's  face. 

Gus  looked  nonplussed.  He  knew  that  his 
father  and  mother  with  difficulty  kept  pace  with 
his  home  expenses  and  that  a  Continental  tour 
was  impossible.  Mr.  Goulden  looked  a  little 
thoughtful,  as  if  a  new  element  had  entered  into 
the  problem. 

"Oh,  come,"  laughed  Zell.  "Let  us  all  be 
good,  and  go  on  a  pilgrimage  together  to  Paris — I 
mean  Jerusalem." 

"  I  will  worship  devoutly  with  you  at  either 
shrine,"  said  Mr.  Van  Dam. 

"  And  with  equal  sincerity,  I  suppose,"  said 
Edith,  rather  coldly. 

"  I  sadly  fear,  Miss  Edith,  that  my  sincerity 
will  not  be  superior  to  that  of  the  other  devotees," 
was  the  keen  retort,  in  blandest  tones. 

Edith  bit  her  lip,  but  said  gayly,  "  Count  me 
out  of  your  pilgrim  band.  I  want  no  shrine  with 
relics  of  the  past.  I  wish  no  incense  rising  about 
me  obscuring  the  view.  I  like  the  present,  and 
wish  to  see  whit  is  beyond." 

"  But  suppose  you  are  both  shrine  and  divinity 
yourself?  "  said  Gus,  with  what  he  meant  for  a  ki& 
ing  look. 


THE  SKIEL  DARKENING.  45 

"Do  you  mean  that  compliment  for  me?" 
asked  Edith,  all  sweetness. 

Between  wine  and  love  Gus  was  inclined  to  be 
sentimental,  and  so  in  a  low,  meaning  tone 
answered — , 

"  Who  more  deserving  ?  " 

Edith's  eyes  twinkled  a  moment,  but  with  a 
half  sigh  she  ^plied,— 

"I  fear  you  read  my  character  rightly.  A 
shrine  suggests  many  offerings,  and  a  divinity 
many  worshippers." 

Zell  laughed  outright,  and  said,  "  In  that  re- 
spect  all  women  would  be  shrines  and  divinities  if 
they  could." 

Van  Dam  and  Goulden  could  not  suppress  a 
smile  at  the  unfortunate  issue  of  Elliot's  senti- 
ment, while  the  latter  glanced  keenly  to  see  how 
much  truth  was  hinted  in  the  badinage. 

"  For  my  part,"  said  Laura,  looking  fixedly  at 
nothing,  "  I  would  rather  have  one  true  devotee 
than  a  thousand  pilgrims  who  were  gusJiing  at 
every  shrine  they  met." 

"  Bravo !  "  cried  Mr.  Goulden.  "  That  was  the 
keenest  arrow  yet  flown ;"  for  the  other  two 
young  men  were  notorious  flirts. 

"  I  do  not  think  so.  Its  point  was  much  too 
broad,"  said  Zell,  with  a  meaning  look  at  Mr. 
Goulden,  that  brought  a  faint  color  into  his  im- 
perturbable face,  and  an  angry  flush  on  Laura's. 

A  disconcerted  manner  had  shown  that  even 
Gus'  vanity  had  not  been  impervious  to  Edith'i 


46  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DO t 

barb,  but  he  had  now  recovered  himself,  and  ven« 
tured  again  : 

"  I  would  have  my  divinity  a  patron  saint  suffi- 
ciently human  to  pity  human  weakness,  and  so 
come  at  last  to  listen  to  no  other  prayer  than 
mine." 

"  Surely,  Mr.  Elliot,  you  would  wish  your  saint 
to  listen  for  some  other  reason  than  your  weak- 
ness only,"  said  Edith. 

"Come,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  I  move  this 
party  breaks  up,  or  some  one  will  get  hurt,"  said 
Gus,  with  a  half  vexed  laugh. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  asked  Edith  inno. 
cently. 

"  Yes,"  echoed  Zell,  rising,  "  what  is  the  matter 
with  you,  Mr.  Van  Dam  ?  Are  you  asleep,  that 
you  are  so  quiet?  Tell  us  about  your  divinity." 

"  I  am  an  astronomer  and  fire  worshipper, 
somewhat  dazzled  at  present  by  the  nearness  and 
brilliancy  of  my  bright  luminary." 

"  Nonsense,  your  sight  is  failing,  and  you  have 
mistaken  a  will-o'-the-wisp  for  the  sun, 

Dancing  here,  dancing  there, 
Catch  it  if  you  can  and  dare." 

and  she  flitted  away  before  him. 

He  followed  with  his  intent  eyes  and  graceful 
serpent-like  gliding,  knowing  her  to  be  under  a 
spell  that  would  soon  bring  her  fluttering  back. 

After  circling  round  him  a  few   moments  she 


THE  SKIES  DARKENING. 


47 


took  his  arm  and  he  commenced  breathing  into 
her  ear  the  poison  of  his  passion. 

No  woman  could  remain  the  same  after  being 
with  Mr.  Van  Dam.  Out  of  the  evil  abundance 
of  his  heart  he  spoke,  but  the  venom  of  his,  words 
and  manner  were  all  the  more  deadly  because  so 
subtle,  so  minutely  and  delicately  distributed,  that 
it  was  like  a  pestilential  atmosphere,  in  which 
truth  and  purity  withered. 

No  parent  should  permit  to  his  daughters  the 
companionship  of  a  thoroughly  bad  man,  whatever 
his  social  standing.  His  very  tone  and  glance  are 
unconsciously  demoralizing,  and  even  if  he  tries,  he 
cannot  prevent  the  bitter  waters  overflowing  from 
their  bad  source,  his  heart. 

Mr.  Van  Dam  did  not  try.  He  meant  to  secure 
Zell,  with  or  without  her  father's  approval,  believ- 
ing that  when  the  marriage  was  once  consummated, 
Mr.  Allen's  consent  and  money  would  follow 
eventually. 

For  some  little  time  longer  the  young  ladies 
and  their  favored  attendants  strolled  about  the 
rooms  in  quiet  tete-a-tete,  and  then  the  gentlemen 
bowed  themselves  out. 

The  door-bell  had  rung  several  times  during  the 
evening,  but  Hannibal,  with  the  solemnity  of  a 
funeral,  had  quenched  each  comer  by  saying  with 
the  decision  of  the  voice  of  fate, — 

"  De  ladies  am  engaged,  sah,''  and  no  Cerberus 
at  the  door,  or  mailed  warder  of  the  middle  ages, 
could  have  proved  such  an  effectual  barrier  againsl 


48  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOt 

all  intruders  as  this  old  negro  in  his  white  waist- 
coat and  stiff  necktie,  backed  by  the  usage  of  mod- 
ern society.  Indeed,  in  some  respects  he  was  a 
greater  potentate  than  old  king  Canute,  for  he 
Could  say  to  the  human  passions,  inclinations  and 
desires  that  surged  up  to  Mr.  Allen's  front  door, 
"  Thus  far  and  no  farther.'5 

But  upon  this  evening  there  was  a  caller  who 
looked  with  cool,  undaunted  eyes  upon  the  stifl 
necktie  and  solemn  visage  rising  above  it,  and  to 
Hannibal's  reiterated  statement,  "  Dey  am  en- 
gaged," replied  in  a  quiet  tone  of  command, — 

"  Take  that  card  to  Miss  Edith." 

Even  Hannibal's  sovereignty  broke  down  before 
this  persistent,  imperturbable  visitor,  and  scratching 
his  head  with  a  perplexed  grin  he  half  soliloquized, 
half  replied, — 

"  Miss  Edith  mighty  'ticlar  to  hab  her  orders 
obeyed." 

"  I  am  the  best  judge  in  this  case,"  was  the 
decisive  response.  "  You  take  the  card  and  I  will 
be  responsible." 

Hannibal  came  to  the  conclusion  that  for  some 
occult  reason  the  gentleman,  who  was  well  known 
to  him,  had  a  right  to  pronounce  the  "  open  sesame" 
where  the  portal  had  remained  closed  to  all  others, 
and  being  a  diplomatist,  resolved  to  know  more 
lully  the  quarter  of  the  wind  before  assuming  too 
much.  But  his  state-craft  was  sorely  puzzled  to 
know  why  one  of  Mr.  Allen's  under-clerks  should 
suddenly  appear  in  the  role  of  social  caller  upon 


THE  SKIES  DARKENING.  49 

the  young  ladies,  for  Mr.  Fox,  the  gentleman 
in  question,  ostensibly  had  no  higher  position. 
His  appearance  and  manner  indicated  a  mystery. 
Old  Hannibal's  wool  had  not  grown  white  for  noth- 
ing, and  he  was  the  last  man  in  the  world  to  go 
through  a  mystery,  as  a  blundering  bumblebee 
would  through  a  spider's  web.  He  was  for  leaving 
the  web  all  intact  till  he  knew  who  spun  it  and  who 
it  was  to  catch.  If  it  was  Mr.  Allen's  work  or  Miss 
Edith's,  it  must  stand  ;  if  not  he  could  play  bumble- 
bee with  a  vengeance,  and  carry  off  the  gossamer 
of  intrigue  with  one  sweep. 

So,  showing  Mr.  Fox  into  a  small  reception 
room,  he  made  his  way  to  the  library  door  with  a 
motion  that  reminded  you  of  a  great,  stealthy  cat, 
and  called  in  a  loud,  impressive  whisper, — 

"  Miss  Edith  !  " 

Edith  at  once  rose  and  joined  him,  knowing 
that  her  prime  minister  had  some  important  ques- 
tion of  state  to  present  when  summoning  her  in 
that  tone. 

Screened  by  the  library  door,  Hannibal  com- 
menced in  a  deprecating  way, — 

"  I  told  Mr.  Fox  you'se  engaged,  but  he  say  I 
must  give  you  dis  card.  He  kinder  acted  as  if  he 
own  dis  niggar  and  de  whole  establishment." 

A  sudden  heavy  frown  drew  Edith's  dark  eye- 
brows together  and  she  said  loud  enough  for  Mr. 
Fox  in  his  ambush  to  hear, — 

"  Was  there  ever  such  impudence ! "  and 
straightway  the  frown  passed  to  the  listener,  inten- 
3 


jo  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DO  t 

sified,  like  a  flying  cloud  darkening  one  spot  now 
and  another  a  moment  later. 

"  Return  the  card,  and  say  I  am  engaged,"  she 
said  haughtily.  "  Stay,"  she  added  thoughtfully 
"  Perhaps  he  wished  to  see  papa,  or  there  is  some 
important  business  matter  which  needs  immediate 
attention.  If  not,  dismiss  him,"  and  Edith  return- 
ed to  the  library  quite  as  much  puzzled  as  Hannibal 
had  been.  Two  or  three  times  recently  she  had 
found  Mr.  Fox's  card  on  returning  from  evenings 
out.  Why  had  he  called  ?  She  had  only  a  cool, 
bowing  acquaintance  with  him,  formed  by  his  com- 
ing occasionally  to  see  her  father  on  business,  and 
her  father  had  not  thought  it  worth  while  to  form- 
ally introduce  Mr.  Fox  to  any  of  his  family  at  such 
times,  but  had  treated  him  as  a  sort  of  upper  ser- 
vant. He  certainly  was  putting  on  strange  airs,  as 
her  old  grand  vizier  had  intimated.  But  in  the 
game  of  cards  and  her  other  little  game  with  Gus, 
she  soon  forgot  his  existence. 

Meantime  Hannibal,  reassured,  was  regal  again 
and  marched  down  the  marble  hall  with  some  of 
the  feeling  and  bearing  of  his  great  namesake.  If 
there  were  a  web  here,  the  Aliens  were  not  spin- 
ning it,  and  he  owed  Mr.  Fox  nothing  but  a  slight 
grudge  for  his  "  airs." 

Therefore  with  the  manner  of  one  feeling  him- 
self master  of  the  situation  he  said, — 

"  Hab  you  a  message  for  Mr.  Allen?" 

"  No,"  replied  Mr  Fox  quietly. 

44  Den  I  tell  you  again  Miss  Edith  am  engaged  * 


THE  SKIES  DARKENING.  jt 

Looking  straight  into  Hannibal's  eyes,  without 
a  muscle  changing  in  his  impassive  face1,  Mr.  Fox 
said  in  the  steady  tone  of  command, — 

"  Say  to  Miss  Edith  I  will  call  again,''  and  he 
pissed  out  of  the  door  as  if  he  were  master  of  the 
situation. 

Hannibal  rolled  up  his  eyes  till  nothing  but  the 
whites  were  seen,  and  muttered, — 

"  Brass  aint  no  name  for  it." 

Mr.  Fox's  action  can  soon  be  explained.  While 
accustomed  to  operate  largely  in  Wall  street  through 
his  brokers,  Mr.  Allen  was  also  the  head  of  a  cloth- 
importing  firm.  This  in  fact  had  been  his  regular 
and  legitimate  business,  but  like  so  many  others,  he 
had  been  drawn  into  the  vortex  of  speculation  and 
after  many  lucky  hits  had  acquired  that  over- 
weening confidence  that  prepares  a  way  for  a  fall. 
He  came  to  believe  that  he  had  only  to  put  his 
hand  to  a  thing  to  give  it  the  needful  impulse  to 
success.  In  his  larger  and  more  exciting  opera- 
tions in  Wall  street  he  had  left  cloth  business  main- 
ly to  his  junior  partners  and  dependents,  they  em- 
ploying his  capital.  Mr.  Fox  was  merely  a  clerk 
in  this  establishment,  and  not  in  very  high  stand- 
ing either.  He  was  also  another  unwholesome 
product  of  metropolitan  life.  As  office  boy  among 
the  lawyers,  as  a  hanger-on  of  the  criminal  courts, 
he  had  scrambled  into  a  certain  kind  of  legal  knowl- 
edge and  gained  a  small  pettifogging  practice,  when 
an  opening  in  Mr.  Allen's  business  led  to  his  pres- 
ent connection.  Mr.  Allen  felt  that  in  his  varied 


52  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOt 

and  extended  business  he  needed  a  man  of  Mr 
Fox's  stamp  to  deal  with  the  legal  questions  that 
came  up,  look  after  the  intricacies  of  the  revenue 
laws,  and  manage  the  immaculate  saints  of  the 
custom-house.  As  far  as  the  firm  had  dirty,  disa. 
greeable,  perplexing  work  to  do,  Mr.  Fox  was  to 
do  it.  Whenever  it  came  in  contact  with  the  ma- 
jesty (?)  of  the  law  and  government,  Mr.  Fox  was  to 
represent  it.  Whenever  some  Israelite  in  whom 
was  guile  sought,  on  varied  pretext,  to  wriggle 
out  of  the  whole  or  part  of  a  bill,  the  wary  Mr. 
Fox  met  and  skirmished  on  the  same  plane  with 
the  adversary,  and  won  the  little  fight  with  the 
same  weapons. 

I  would  not  for  a  moment  give  the  impression 
that  Mr.  Allen  was  in  favor  of  sharp  practice. 
He  merely  wished  to  conduct  his  business  on  the 
business  principles  and  practice  of  the  day,  and 
it  was  not  his  purpose,  and  certainly  not  his 
policy,  to  pass  beyond  the  law.  But  even  the 
judges  disagree  as  to  what  the  law  is,  and  he  was 
dealing  with  many  who  thrived  by  evading  it ; 
therefore  the  need  of  a  nimble  Mr.  Fox  who  could 
burrow  and  double  on  his  tracks  with  the  best  of 
them.  All  went  well  for  years  and  the  firm  was 
saved  many  an  annoyance,  many  a  loss,  and  if  this 
guerilla  of  the  house,  as  perhaps  we  may  term 
him,  had  been  as  devoted  to  Mr.  Allen's  interests 
as  to  his  own,  all  might  have  gone  well  to  the  end. 
But  these  very  sharp  men  are  apt  to  cut  both  ways 
and  so  it  turned  out  in  this  case.  The  astute  Mr. 


THE  SKIES  DARKENING  53 

Fox  determined  to  faithfully  serve  Mr.  Allen  as 
long  as  he  could  faithfully  and  preeminently  serve 
himself.  If  he  who  had  scrambled  from  the  streets 
to  his  present  place  of  power  could  reach  a  higher 
position  by  stepping  on  the  great  rich  merchant, 
such  power  would  have  additional  satisfaction. 
He  was  as  keen-scented  after  money  as  Mr.  Allen 
only  the  latter  hunted  like  a  lion,  and  the  former 
like  a  fox.  He  mastered  Mr.  Allen's  business 
thoroughly  in  all  its  details.  Until  recently  no 
opportunity  had  occurred  save  work,  which,  though 
useful,  caused  him  to  be  half-despised  by  the  others 
who  would  not,  or  could  not  do  it.  But  of  late 
he  had  gained  a  strong  vantage  point.  He  watch- 
ed with  intense  interest  Mr.  Allen's  attraction 
toward,  and  entrance  upon,  a  speculation  that  he 
knew  to  be  as  uncertain  of  issue  as  large  in  pro- 
portionsj  for  if  the  case  ever  became  critical,  he 
was  conscious  of  the  power  of  introducing  a  very 
important  element  into  the  problem. 

In  his  care  of  the  custom-house  business  he 
had  discovered  technical  violations  of  the  revewue 
laws  which  already  involved  the  loss  to  the  firm  v>f 
a  million  dollars,  and  with  his  peculiar  loyalty  *o 
himself,  thought  this  knowledge  ought  to  be  wort  h 
a  great  deal.  As  Mr.  Allen  went  down  into  the 
deep  waters  of  Wall  street,  he  saw  that  it  might  bfc, 
In  saving  his  employer  from  wreck  he  might  vir« 
tually  become  captain  of  the  ship. 

After  this  brief  delineation  of  character,  it 
would  strike  the  reader  as  very  incongruous  to 


54  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOt 

say  that  Mr.  Fox  had  fallen  in  love  with  Edith. 
Mr.  Fox  never  stumbled  or  fell.  He  could  slide 
down  and  scramble  up  to  any  extent,  and  when 
cornered  could  take  as  flying  a  leap  as  a  cat.  But, 
he  had  been  greatly  impressed  by  Edith's  beauty, 
and  to  win  her  also  would  be  an  additional  and 
piquant  feature  in  the  game.  He  had  absolute 
confidence  in  money,  much  of  which  he  might 
have  gained  from  Mr.  Allen  himself.  He  knew 
a  million  of  her  father's  money  was  in  his  power, 
and  this,  in  a  certain  sense,  placed  him  in  the 
position  of  a  suitor  worth  a  million,  and  such 
he  knew  to  be  almost  omnipotent  on  the  Avenue. 
If  this  money  could  also  be  the  means  of  causing 
Mr.  Allen's  ruin,  or  saving  him  from  it,  he  believed 
that  Edith  would  be  his  as  truly  as  the  bonds  and 
certificates  of  stock  that  he  often  counted  and 
gloated  over.  Even  before  Mr.  Allen  entered  on 
what  he  called  his  great  and  final  operation  for  the 
present,  he  was  half  inclined  to  show  his  hand  and 
make  the  most  of  it,  but  within  the  last  few  days 
he  had  learned  that  perhaps  a  greater  opportunity 
was  opening  before  him.  Meantime  in  the  full  con- 
sciousness of  power  he  had  commenced  calling  on 
Edith,  as  we  have  seen,  something  as  a  cat  likes 
to  play  around  and  watch  a  caged  oird,  which  it 
expects  to  have  in  its  claws  before  long. 

The  next  morning  at  breakfast  Edith  mentioned 
Mr.  Fox's  recent  calls. 

"  What  is  he  coming  here  for  ?  "  growled  Mr, 
Allen,  looking  with  a  frown  at  his  daughter. 


THE  SKIES  DARKENING.  55 

1  I'm  sure  1  don't  know." 

"  I  hope  you  don't  see  him." 

"  Certainly  not.  I  was  out  the  first  two  times, 
an  i  last  night  sent  word  that  I  was  engaged. 
But  he  insisted  on  his  card  being  given  to  me  and 
put  on  airs  generally,  so  Hannibal  seems  to  think." 

That  dignitary  gave  a  confirming  and  indig- 
nant grunt. 

"  He  said  he  would  call  again,  didn't  he,  Hanni- 
bal?" 

"Yes'm,"  blurted  Hannibal,  "and  he  looked 
as  if  de  next  time  he'd  put  us  all  in  his  breeches 
pocket  and  carry  us  off." 

"What's  Fox  up  to  now?"  muttered  Mr. 
Allen,  knitting  his  brows.  "  I  must  look  into 
this." 

But  even  within  a  few  hours  the  cloud  land  of 
Wall  street  had  changed  some  of  its  aspects.  The 
sereneness  of  the  preceding  day  was  giving  place 
to  indications  of  a  disturbance  in  the  financial 
atmosphere.  He  had  tc  buy  more  stock  to  keep 
the  control  he  was  gaining  on  the  market,  and 
things  were  not  shaping  favorably  for  its  rise.  He 
was  already  carrying  a  tremendous  load,  and  even 
his  Herculean  shoulders  began  to  feel  the  burden. 
In  the  press  and  rush  of  business  he  forgot  about 
Fox's  social  ambition  in  venturing  to  call  where 
such  men  as  Van  Dam  and  Gus  Elliot  had  undis- 
puted rights. 

Those  upon  whom  society  lays  its  hands  are 
orthodox  of  course. 


56  WHAT  CAN  LHE  DOt 

The  wary  Fox  was  watching  the  stock  market 
as  closely  as  Mr.  Allen,  and  chuckled  over  the 
aspect  of  affairs;  and  he  concluded  to  keep  quietly 
out  of  the  way  a  little  longer,  and  await  further 
developments. 

Things  moved  rapidly  as  they  usually  do  in  the 
maelstrom  of  speculation.  Though  Mr.  Allen  was 
a  trained  athlete  in  business,  the  strain  upon  him 
grew  greater  day  by  day.  But  true  to  his  promise 
and  in  accordance  with  his  habit  of  promptness,  he 
transferred  the  deed  for  the  little  place  in  the 
country  to  Edith,  who  gloated  over  its  dry  techni- 
calities as  if  they  were  full  of  romantic  hope  and 
suggestion  to  her. 

One  day  when  alone  with  Laura,  Mr.  Allen 
asked  her  suddenly, — 

"  Has  Mr.  Goulden  made  any  formal  proposal 
yet?" 

With  rising  color  Laura  answered, — 

"No." 

"  Why  not  ?  He  seems  very  slow  about  it." 

"  I  hardly  know  how  you  expect  me  to  reply  to 
such  a  question,"  said  Laura,  a  little  haughtily. 

"  Is  he  as  attentive  as  ever  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so,  though  he  has  not  called 
quite  so  often  of  late." 

"  Humph!"  ejaculated  Mr.  Allen  meditatively, 
adding  after  a  moment,  "  Can't  you  make  him 
speak  out  ? '' 

"  You  certainly  don't  mean  me  to  propose  to 
him  ?  "  asked  Laura,  reddening. 


THE  SKIES  DARKENING.  57 

"  No  no,  no  ! "  said  her  father  with  some  irri- 
tation, "  but  any  clever  woman  can  make  a  man, 
who  has  gone  as  far  as  Mr.  Goulden,  commit  him- 
self  whenever  she  chooses.  Your  mother  would 
have  had  the  thing  settled  long  ago,  or  else  would 
have  enjoyed  the  pleasure  of  refusing  him." 

"  I  am  not  mistress  of  that  kind  of  finesse " 
said  Laura  coldly. 

"  You  are  a  woman,"  replied  her  father  coolly, 
"  and  don't  need  any  lessons.  It  would  be  well  for 
us  both  if  you  would  exert  your  native  power  in 
this  case." 

Laura  glanced  keenly  at  her  father  and  asked 
quickly, — 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Just  what  I  say.  A  hint  to  the  wise  is  suffi- 
cient." 

Having  thus    indicated    to  his   daughter   that 
phase  of  Wall    street  tactics  and    principles  that 
could  be  developed  on  the  Avenue,  he  took  him- 
self off  to  the  central  point  of  operations. 
3* 


CHAP!  ER  V. 

THE  STORM    THREATENING. 

T  AURA  had  a  better  motive  than  suggested  by 
her  father  for  wishing  to  lead  Mr.  Goulden  to 
commit  himself,  for  as  far  as  she  could  love  any  one 
beyond  herself,  she  loved  him,  and  also  realized 
fully  that  he  could  continue  to  her  all  that  her  ele- 
gant and  expensive  tastes  craved.  Notwithstand- 
ing her  show  of  maidenly  pride  and  reserve,  she 
was  ready  enough  to  do  as  she  had  been  bidden. 
Mr.  Allen  guessed  as  much.  Indeed,  as  was  quite 
natural,  his  wife  was  the  type  of  the  average 
woman  to  his  mind,  only  he  believed  that  she  wai 
a  little  cleverer  in  these  matters  than  the  majority, 
The  manner  in  which  she  had  "  hooked"  him  made 
a  deep  and  lasting  impression  on  his  memory. 

But  Mr.  Goulden  was  a  wary  fish.  He  had  no 
objections  to  being  hooked  if  the  conditions  were 
all  right,  and  until  satisfied  as  to  these,  he  would 
play  around  at  a  safe  distance.  As  he  saw  Mr. 
Allen  daily  getting  into  deeper  water,  he  grew 
more  cautious.  His  calls  were  not  quite  so  fre- 
quent. He  always  managed  to  be  with  Laura  in 
company  with  others,  and  while  his  manner  was 
very  complimentary,  it  was  never  exactly  lover-like. 
Therefore,  all  Laura's  feminine  diplomacy  was  IP 


THE  STORM  THREATENING. 


59 


vain,  and  that  which  a  woman  can  say  frankly  the 
moment  a  man  speaks,  she  could  scarcely  hint 
Moreover,  Mr.  Goulden  was  adroit  enough  to  chill 
her  heart  while  he  flattered  her  vanity.  There 
was  something  about  his  manner  she  could  not 
understand,  but  it  was  impossible  to  take  offence 
at  the  polished  gentleman. 

Her  father  understood  him  better.  He  saw 
that  Mr.  Goulden  had  resolved  to  settle  the  ques- 
tion on  financial  principles  only. 

As  the  chances  diminished  of  securing  him 
indirectly  through  Laura  as  a  prop  to  his  tottering 
fortunes,  he  at  last  came  to  the  conclusion  to  try 
to  interest  him  directly  in  his  speculation,  feeling 
sure  if  he  could  control  only  a  part  of  Mr.  Goul- 
den's  large  means  and  credit,  he  could  carry  his 
operation  through  successfully. 

Mr.  Goulden  warily  listened  to  the  scheme, 
warily  weighed  it,  and  concluded  within  the  brief 
compass  of  Mr.  Allen's  explanation  to  have  nothing 
to  do  with  it.  But  his  outward  manner  was  all 
deference  and  courteous  attention. 

At  the  end  of  Mr.  Allen's  rather  eager  and 
rose-colored  statements,  he  replied  in  politest  and 
most  regretful  tones  that  he  "  was  very  sorry  he 
could  not  avail  himself  of  so  promising  an  opening, 
but  in  fact,  he  was  '  in  deep'  himself — carrying  all 
he  could  stand  up  under  very  well,  and  was  rathef 
in  the  borrowing  than  in  the  lending  line  at  pres- 
ent." 

Keen   Mr.  Allen  saw  through   all. this  in  a 


60  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DOt 

moment,  and  his  face  flushed  angrily  in  spite  of 
his  efforts  at  self-control.  Muttering  something 
to  the  effect, — 

"  I  thought  I  would  give  you  a  chance  to  make 
a  good  thing,"  he  bade  a  rather  abrupt  "good 
morning." 

As  the  pressure  grew  heavier  upon  him  he  was 
led  to  do  a  thing,  the  suggestion  of  which  a  few 
weeks  previously,  he  would  have  regarded  as  an 
insult.  Mrs.  Allen  had  a  snug  little  property  of 
her  own,  which  had  been  secured  to  her  on  first 
mortgages,  and  in  bonds  that  were  quiet  and  safe. 
These  her  husband  held  in  trust  for  her,  and  now 
pledged  them  as  collateral  on  which  to  borrow 
money  to  carry  through  his  gigantic  operation. 
In  respect  to  part  of  this  transaction,  Mrs.  Allen 
was  obliged  to  sign  a  paper  which  might  have  re- 
vealed to  her  the  danger  involved,  but  she  lan- 
guidly took  the  pen,  yawned,  and  signed  away  the 
result  of  her  father's  long  years  of  toil  without 
reading  a  line. 

"  There,"  she  said,  "  I  hope  you  will  not  bother 
me  about  business  again.  Now  in  regard  to  this 
party" — and  she  was  about  to  enter  into  an  eager 
discussion  of  all  the  complicated  details,  when  her 
husband,  interrupting,  said, — 

"  Another  time,  my  dear — I  am  very  much 
pressed  by  business  at  present." 

"  O,  business,  nothing  but  business,"  whined 
his  wife.  "  You  never  have  time  to  attend  to  me  or 
your  family." 


THE  STORM  THREA  TENING.  6l 

But  Mr.  Allen  was  out  of  hearing  of  the 
querulous  tones  before  the  sentence  was  finished. 

Of  course  he  never  meant  that  his  wife  should 
lose  a  cent,  and  to  satisfy  his  conscience,  and  im- 
pressed by  his  danger,  he  resolved  that  as  soon  as 
he  was  out  of  this  quaking  morass  of  speculation 
he  would  settle  on  his  wife  and  each  daughter 
enough  to  secure  them  in  wealth  through  life  and 
arrange  it  in  such  a  way  that  no  one  could  touch 
the  principal. 

The  large  sum  that  he  now  secured  eased  up 
matters  and  helped  him  greatly,  and  affairs  began 
to  wear  a  brightening  aspect.  He  felt  sure  that 
the  stock  he  had  invested  in  was  destined  to  rise 
in  time,  and  indeed  it  already  gave  evidences  of 
buoyancy.  He  noticed  with  an  inward  chuckle 
that  Mr.  Goulden  began  to  call  a  little  oftener. 
He  was  the  best  financial  barometer  in  Wall 
street. 

But  the  case  would  require  the  most  adroit  and 
delicate  management  for  weeks  still,  and  this  Mr. 
Allen  could  have  given.  Success  also  depended 
on  a  favorable  state  of  the  money  market,  and  a 
good  degree  of  stability  and  quietness  throughout 
the  financial  world.  Political  changes  in  Europe, 
a  war  in  Asia,  heavy  failures  in  Liverpool,  London 
or  Paris,  might  easily  spoil  all.  Reducing  Mr. 
Allen's  vast  complicated  operation  to  its  final 
analysis,  he  had  simply  bet  several  millions — all  he 
had,  that  nothing  would  happen  throughout  the 
world  that  could  interfere  with  a  scheme  so  prob 


63  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOt 

lematical  that  the  chances  could  scarcely  be  called 
even. 

But  gambling  is  occasionally  successful,  and  it 
began  to  look  as  if  Mr.  Allen  would  win  his  bet ; 
and  so  he  might  had  nothing  happened.  The 
world  was  quiet  enough,  remarkably  quiet,  consid- 
ering the  superabundance  of  explosive  elements 
everywhere. 

The  financial  centres  seethed  on  as  usual,  like 
a  witch's  cauldron,  but  there  were  no  infernal  ebul- 
litions in  the  form  of  "  Black  Fridays."  The 
storm  that  threatened  to  wreck  Mr.  Alkn  was  no 
wide,  sweeping  tempest,  but  rather  one  of  those 
little  local  whirlwinds  that  sometimes  in  the  West 
destroy  a  farm  or  township. 

For  the  last  few  weeks  Mr.  Fox  had  quietly 
watched  the  game,  matured  his  plans,  and  secured 
his  proof  in  the  best  legal  form.  He  now  con- 
cluded it  was  time  to  act,  as  he  believed  Mr.  Allen 
to  be  in  his  power.  So  one  morning  he  coolly 
walked  into  that  gentleman's  office,  closed  the  door 
and  took  a  seat.  Mr.  Allen  looked  up  with  an  ex 
pression  of  surprise  and  annoyance  on  his  face.  He 
instinctively  disliked  Mr.  Fox,  as  a  lion  might  be 
irritated  by  a  cat,  and  the  instinctive  enmity  waa 
all  the  stronger,  because  of  a  certain  family  like- 
ness. But  Mr.  Allen's  astuteness  had  nothing 
mean  or  cringing  in  it,  while  Mr.  Fox  heretofore 
had  been  a  sort  of  Uriah  Heep  to  him.  Therefore 
his  surprise  and  annoyance  at  his  new  role  of  cool 
confidence. 


THE  STORM  THREA  ThNING.  Oj 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  he,  rather  impatiently,  return* 
ing  to  his  writing,  as  a  broad  hint  that  communica* 
lions  must  be  brief  if  made  at  all. 

"  Mr.  Allen,"  said  Mr.  Fox,  in  that  clear  cut 
decisive  tone,  that  betokens  resolute  purpose,  and 
a  little  anger  also,  "  I  must  request  you  to  give  me 
your  undivided  attention  for  a  little  time,  and  sure- 
ly what  I  am  about  to  say  is  important  enough  to 
make  it  worth  the  while." 

Though  Mr.  Allen  flushed  angrily,  he  knew  that 
his  clerk  would  not  employ  such  a  tone  and  man- 
ner without  reason,  so  he  raised  his  head  and  look- 
ed steadily  at  his  unwelcome  visitor  and  again  said' 
oriefly, — 

"  Well,  sir." 

"  I  wish,  in  the  first  place,"  said  Mr.  Fox,  think- 
ing to  begin  with  the  least  important  exaction,  and 
gradually  reach  a  climax  in  his  extortion,  "  I  wish 
permission  to  pay  my  addresses  to  your  daughter 
Miss  Edith." 

Knowing  nothing  of  a  father's  pride  and  affec- 
tion, he  unwittingly  brought  in  the  climax  first. 

The  angry  flush  deepened  on  Mr.  Allen's  face, 
but  he  still  managed  to  control  himself,  and  to  re- 
member that  the  father  of  three  pretty  daughters 
must  expect  some  scenes  like  these,  and  the  only 
thing  to  do  was  to  get  rid  of  the  objectionable  suit- 
ors as  civilly  as  possible.  He  was  also  too  much 
of.an  American  to  put  on  any  of  the  high  stepping 
airs  of  the  European  aristocracy.  Here  it  is  sim 
ply  one  sovereign  proposing  for  the  daughter  of 


64  Wff*  T  CAN  SHE  DOf 

another,  and  generally  the  young  people  practical- 
ly arrange  it  all  before  asking  any  consent  in  the 
case.  After  all,  Mr.  Fox  had  only  paid  his  daugh* 
ter  the  highest  compliment  in  his  power,  and  if 
any  other  of  his  clerks  had  made  a  similar  request 
he  would  probably  have  given  as  kind  and  delicate 
a  refusal  as  possible.  It  was  because  he  disliked 
Mr.  Fox,  and  instinctively  gauged  his  character, 
that  he  said  with  a  short,  dry  laugh, — 

"Come,  Mr.  Fox,  you  are  forgetting  yourself. 
You  have  been  a  useful  employee  in  my  store.  If 
you  feel  that  you  should  have  more  salary,  name 
-what  will  satisfy  you,  and  I  will  consult  my  part- 
ners, and  try  and  arrange  it."  "  There,"  thought 
he,  "  if  he  can't  take  that  hint  as  to  his  place,  I 
shall  have  to  give  him  a  kick."  But  both  surprise 
and  anger  began  to  get  the  better  of  him  when  Mr. 
Fox  replied, — 

"  I  must  really  beg  your  closer  attention ;  I  said 
nothing  of  increased  salary.  You  will  soon  see 
that  is  no  object  with  me  now.  I  asked  your  per- 
mission to  pay  my  addresses  to  your  daughter." 

"  I  decline  to  give  it,"  said  Mr.  Allen,  harshly, 
"  and  if  I  hear  any  more  of  this  nonsense  I  will 
discharge  you  from  my  employ.'' 

"Why?  "was  the  quiet  response,  yet  spoken 
with  the  intensity  of  passion. 

"  Because  I  never  would  permit  my  daughter 
to  marry  a  man  in  your  circumstances,  and  if  ycu 
will  have  it,  you  are  not  the  style  of  a  man  I  would 
wish  to  take  into  my  family." 


THE  STORM  THREATENING.  65 

alf  a  man  who  was  worth  a  million  asked  for 
your  daughter's  hand,  would  you  answer  him  in 
this  manner?" 

"Perhaps  not,"  said  Mr.  Allen,  with  another 
of  his  short  dry  laughs,  which  expressed  little  save 
irritation,  "  but  you  have  my  answer  as  respects 
yourself." 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,"  was  the  bold  retort. 
"  I  am  practically  worth  a  million — indeed  several 
millions  to  you,  as  you  are  now  situated.  You 
have  talked  long  enough  in  the  dark,  Mr.  Allen. 
For  some  time  back  there  have  been  in.  your  im- 
portations violations  of  the  revenue  laws.  I  have 
only  to  give  the  facts  in  my  possession  to  the 
proper  authorities  and  the  government  would 
legally  claim  from  you  a  million  of  dollars,  of  which 
I  should  get  half.  So  you  see  that  I  am  positively 
worth  five  hundred  thousand,  and  to  you  I  am 
worth  a  million  with  respect  to  this  item  alone." 

Mr.  Allen  sprang  excitedly  to  his  feet.  Mr. 
Fox  coolly  got  up  and  edged  toward  the  door, 
which  he  had  purposely  left  unlatched. 

"  Moreover/'  continued  Mr.  Fox,  in  his  hard 
metallic  voice,  "  in  view  of  your  other  operations  in 
Wall  street,  which  I  know  all  about,  the  loss  of  a 
million  would  involve  the  loss  of  all  you  have." 

Mr.  Fox  now  had  his  hand  on  the  door-knob, 
and  Mr.  Allen  was  glaring  at  him  as  if  purposing 
to  rush  upon  and  rend  him  to  pieces. 

Standing  in  the  passage-way,  Mr.  Fox  conclu- 
ded, in  a  low,  meaning  tone, — 


66  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DOt 

"  You  had  better  make  terms  with  me  within 
twenty-four  hours." 

And  the  door  closed  sharply,  reminding  one  of 
the  shutting  of  a  steel  trap. 

Mr.  Allen  sank  suddenly  back  in  his  chair  and 
stared  at  the  closed  door,  looking  as  if  he  might 
have  been  a  prisoner  and  all  escape  cut  off. 

He  seemed  to  be  in  a  lethargy  or  under  a  par- 
tial paralysis ;  he  slowly  and  weakly  rubbed  his 
head  with  his  hand,  as  if  vaguely  conscious  that 
the  trouble  was  there. 

Gradually  the  stupor  began  to  pass  off,  his 
blood  to  circulate,  and  his  mind  to  realize  his  situ- 
ation. 

Rising  feebly,  as  if  a  sudden  age  har"  fallen  on 
him,  he  went  to  the  door  and  gave  orders  that  he 
must  not  be  disturbed,  and  then  sat  down  to  think. 
Half  an  hour  later  he  sent  for  his  lawyer,  stated 
the  case  to  him,  enjoined  secrecy,  and  asked  him 
to  see  Fox,  hoping  that  it  might  be  a  case  of  mere 
black-mailing  bravado.  Keen  as  Mr.  Allen's  law- 
yer was,  he  had  more  than  his  match  in  the  astute 
Mr.  Fox.  Moreover  the  latter  had  everything  in 
his  favor.  There  had  been  a  slight  infringement 
of  the  revenue  laws,  and  though  involving  but 
small  loss  to  the  government,  the  consequences 
were  the  same.  The  invoice  would  be  confiscated 
as  soon  as  the  facts  were  known.  Mr.  Fox  had 
secured  ample  proof  of  this. 

Mr.  Allen  might  be  able  to  prove  that  there 
was  no  intention  to  violate  the  law,  as  indeed  there 


THE  STORM  THREATENING.  67 

had  not  been.  In  fact,  he  had  left  those  matters 
to  his  subordinates,  and  they  had  been  a  little  care- 
less, averaging  matters,  contenting  themselves  with 
complying  with  the  general  intent  of  the  law, 
rather  than,  with  painstaking  care,  conforming  to 
its  letter.  But  the  law  is  very  matter-of-fact,  and 
can  be  excessively  literal  when  money  is  to  be 
made  by  those  who  live  by  enforcing  or  evading  it, 
as  may  suit  them.  Mr.  Fox  could  carry  his  case, 
if  he  pressed  it,  and  secure  his  share  of  the  plunder. 
On  account  of  a  very  slight  loss,  Mr.  Allen  might 
be  compelled  to  lose  a  million. 

Before  the  day's  decline  the  lawyer  had  asked 
Mr.  Fox  to  take  no  further  steps,  stating  vaguely 
that  Mr.  Allen  would  look  into  the  matter,  and 
would  not  be  unreasonable. 

A  sardonic  grin  gave  a  momentary  lurid  hue  to 
Mr.  Fox's  sallow  face.  Knowing  the  game  to  be 
in  his  own  hands,  he  could  quietly  bide  his  time  ; 
so,  assuming  a  tone  of  much  moderation  and  dig- 
nity, he  replied,  he  had  no  wish  to  be  hard,  and 
could  be  reasonable  also.  ''  But,"  added  he,  in  a 
meaning  tone,  "  there  must  be  no  double  work  in 
this  matter.  Mr.  Allen  must  see  what  I  am  worth 
to  him — nothing  could  be  plainer.  His  best  policy 
now  is  to  act  promptly  and  liberally  toward  me. 
for  I  pledge  you  my  word  that  if  I  see  any  dispo- 
sition to  evade  my  requirements  I  will  blow  out 
the  bottom  of  everything,"  and  a  snaky  glitter  in 
his  small  black  eyes  showed  how  remorselessly  he 
could  scuttle  the  ship  bearing  Mr.  Allen's  fortunes 


68  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOt 

A  speedy  investigation  showed  Mr.  Fox's  fatal 
power,  and  Mr.  Allen's  partners  were  for  paying 
him  off,  b»t  when  they  found  that  he  exacted  an 
interest  in  the  business,  that  quite  threw  them 
into  the  background  ;  they  were  indignant  and  in- 
clined to  fight  it  out.  Mr.  Allen  could  not  tell 
them  that  he  was  in  no  condition  to  fight.  If  his 
financial  status  had  been  the  same  as  some  weeks 
previously,  he  would  rather  have  lost  the  million 
than  have  listened  one  moment  to  Mr.  Fox's  repul- 
sive conditions,  but  now  to  risk  litigation  and  com- 
mercial reputation  on  one  hand,  and  total  ruin  on 
the  other,  was  an  abyss  from  which  he  shrank  back 
appalled. 

His  only  resource  was  to  temporize,  both  with 
his  partners  and  Mr.  Fox,  and  so  gain  time,  hoping 
that  the  Wall  street  scheme,  that  had  caused  so 
much  evil,  might  also  cure  it.  Of  course  he  could 
not  tell  his  partners  how  he  was  situated.  The 
slightest  breath  of  suspicion  might  cause  the 
evenly  balanced  scales  in  which  hung  all  chances 
to  hopelessly  decline.  It  now  showed  a  decided 
tendency  to  rise. 

If  he  could  only  keep  things  quiet  a  little 
longer — 

Edith  must  help  him.  Calling  her  into  the 
library  after  dinner,  he  asked  : 

"  Has  Mr.  Fox  called  lately  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,  not  for  some  little  time." 

"  Will  you  oblige  me  by  seeing  him  and  being 
civil  if  he  calls  again  ?  " 


THE  STORM  THREA  TEN  ING.  6g 

"  Why,  papa,  I  thought  you  did  not  wish  me  to 
«ee  him." 

"Circumstances  have  altered  since  then.  Is 
he  very  disagreeable  to  you  ?  " 

"  Well  papa,  I  have  scarcely  thought  of  him, 
but  to  tell  you  the  truth  when  he  has  been  here 
on  business,  I  have  involuntarily  thought  of  a  mous- 
ing cat  or  the  animal  he  is  named  after,  on  the 
scent  of  a  hen-roost.  But  of  course  I  can  be  civil 
or  even  polite  to  him  if  you  wish  it." 

A  spasm  of  pain  crossed  her  father's  face  and 
he  put  his  hand  hastily  to  his  head,  a  frequent  act 
of  late.  He  rose  and  took  a  few  turns  up  and  down 
the  room,  muttering, — 

"  Curse  it  all,  I  must  tell  her.  Half  knowledge 
is  always  dangerous,  and  is  sure  to  lead  to  blunders, 
and  there  must  be  no  blunders  now." 

Stopping  abruptly  before  his  daughter,  he  said, 
"  He  has  proposed  for  your  hand." 

An  expression  of  disgust  flitted  across  Edith's 
face,  and  she  replied  quickly, — 

"  We  both  have  surely  but  one  answer  to  such 
a  proposition  from  him" 

"  Edith,  you  seem  to  have  more  sense  in  regard 
to  business  and  such  matters  than  most  young  la- 
dies. I  must  now  test  you,  and  it  is  for  you  to 
show  whether  you  are  a  woman  or  a  shallow-brain- 
ed girl.  I  am  sorry  to  tell  you  these  things.  They 
are  not  suited  to  your  age  or  sex,  but  there  is  no 
help  for  it,"  and  he  explained  how  he  was  situated. 

Edith  listened  with  paling  cheek,  dilating  eyes 


70  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DO? 

and  parting  lips,  but  still  with  a  rising  courage  and 
growing  purpose  to  help  her  father. 

"  I  do  not  wish  you  to  marry  this  villain,'*  he 
continued.  "Heaven  for  bid;  "(not  that  Mr.  Al- 
len referred  this  or  any  other  matter  to  Heaven;  it 
was  only  a  strong  way  of  expressing  his  own  dis- 
approval.) "  But  we  must  manage  to  temporize  and 
keep  this  man  at  bay  till  I  can  extricate  myself 
from  my  difficulties.  As  soon  as  I  stand  on  firm 
ground  I  will  defy  him." 

To  Edith,  with  her  standard  of  morality,  the 
course  indicated  by  her  father  seemed  eminently 
filial  and  praiseworthy.  The  thought  of  marrying 
Mr.  Fox  made  her  flesh  creep,  but  a  brief  flirtation 
was  another  affair.  She  had  flirted  not  a  little  in 
her  day  for  the  mere  amusement  of  the  thing,  and 
with  the  motives  her  father  had  presented,  she 
could  do  it  in  this  case  as  if  it  were  an  act  of  devo- 
tion. Of  the  pure  and  lofty  morality  of  the  Bible 
she  had  as  little  idea  as  a  Persian  houri,  and  rugged 
Roman  virtue  could  not  develop  in  the  social  at- 
mosphere in  which  the  Aliens  lived.  It  was  with 
a  clear  conscience  that  she  resolved  to  beguile  Mr. 
Fox,  and  signified  as  much  to  her  father. 

"  Play  him  off,"  said  this  model  father,  "  as  Mr, 
Goulden  does  Laura.  Curse  him ! — how  I  would 
like  to  slam  the  front  door  in  his  face.  But  my 
time  may  come  yet,"  he  added  with  set  teeth. 

That  morning  Mr.  Allen  sent  for  Mr.  Fox,  as  ha 
dared  brave  him  no  longer  without  some  definite 
show  of  yielding,  in  order  to  keep  back  his  fatal 


THE  STORM  THREATENING.  j\ 

disclosures.  With  a  dignity  and  formality  scarcely 
in  keeping  with  his  fear  and  the  import  of  his 
words,  he  said, — 

"  I  have  considered  your  statements,  sir,  and  ad- 
mit their  weight.  As  I  informed  you  through  my 
lawyer,  I  wish  to  be  reasonable  and  hope  you  in- 
tend to  be  the  same,  for  these  are  very  grave  mat- 
ters. In  regard  to  my  daughter,  you  have  my  per- 
mission to  call  upon  her  as  do  her  other  gentleman 
friends,  and  she  will  receive  you.  In  this  land,  that 
is  all  the  vantage  ground  a  gentleman  asks,  as  in- 
deed it  is  all  that  can  be  granted.  I  am  not  the 
king  of  Dahomey  or  the  Shah  of  Persia,  and  able 
to  give  my  daughters  where  interest  may  dictate. 
A  lady's  inclination  must  be  consulted.  Bnt  I  give 
you  the  permission  you  ask,  you  may  pay  your  ad- 
dresses to  my  daughter.  You  could  scarcely  ask 
a  father  to  say  more." 

"  It  matters  little  to  me  what  you  or  others  say, 
but  much  what  they  do.  My  action  shall  be  based 
upon  yours  and  Miss  Edith's.  I  have  learned  in 
your  employ  the  value  of  promptness  in  all  business 
matters.  I  hope  you  understand  me." 

"  I  do,  sir,  but  there  can  be  no  indecent  haste 
in  these  matters.  In  gaining  the  important  posi- 
tion— in  assuming  the  relations  you  desire, — there 
should  be  some  show  of  dignity,  otherwise  society 
will  be  disgusted,  and  you  would  lose  the  respect 
which  should  follow  such  vast  acquirements." 

"  Where  I  can  secure  the  whole  cloth,  I  shall  *ot 


72  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOt 

worry  about  the  selvage  of  etiquette  and  passf.ig 
opinion,"  was  Mr.  Fox's  cynical  reply. 

Mr.  Allen  could  not  prevent  an  expression  of 
intense  disgust  from  coming  out  upon  his  face,  rnd 
he  replied  with  some  heat, — 

"  Well,  sir,  something  is  due  to  my  own  position, 
and  I  can  not  treat  my  daughter  like  a  bale  of 
cloth,  as  you  suggest  in  your  figurative  speech. 
However,"  he  added,  warily,  "  I  will  take  the  neces- 
sary steps  as  soon  as  possible,  and  will  trespass 
upon  your  time  no  longer." 

As  Mr.  Fox  glided  out  of  the  office  with  his 
sardonic  smile,  Mr.  Allen  felt  for  the  moment  that 
he  would  rather  break  than  make  terms  with  him. 

Meanwhile  the  month  of  February  was  rapidly 
passing,  though  each  day  was  an  age  of  anxiety 
and  suspense  to  Mr.  Allen.  The  tension  was  too 
much  for  him,  and  he  evidently  aged  and  failed  un- 
der it.  He  drank  more  than  he  ate,  and  his  temper 
was  very  variable.  From  his  wife  he  only  received 
chidings  and  complaints  that  in  his  horrid  "  mania 
for  business"  he  was  neglecting  her  and  his  family 
in  general.  She  could  never  get  Vim  to  sit  down 
and  talk  sensibly  of  the  birthday  and  debut  party 
that  was  now  so  near.  He  would  always  say,  testily, 
"  manage  it  to  suit  yourselves." 

Laura  and  Zell  were  too  much  wrapped  up  in 
their  own  affairs  to  give  much  thought  to  anything 
else.  But  Edith,  of  late  understood  her  father  and 
felt  deeply  for  him.  One  evening  rinding  him  sit 


THE  STORM  THREA  TEN  ING.  73 

ting  dejectedly  alone  in  the  library  after  dinner,  she 
said, — 

"  Why  go  on  with  this  party,  papa?  I  am  sure 
I  am  ready  to  give  it  up  if  it  will  be  any  relief  to 
you." 

The  heart  of  this  strong,  confident  man  of  the 
world  was  sore  and  lonely.  For  perhaps  the  first 
time  he  felt  the  need  of  support  and  sympathy. 
He  drew  his  beautiful  daughter,  that  thus  far  he 
had  scarcely  more  than  admired,  down  upon  his 
lap  and  buried  his  face  upon  her  shoulder.  A 
breath  of  divine  impulse  swept  aside  for  a  moment 
the  narrow  stifling  curtains  of  his  sordid  life,  and 
he  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  large  happy  realm  of 
love. 

"  And  would  you  really  give  up  anything  for 
the  sake  of  your  old  father?''  he  asked  in  alow 
tone. 

"  Everything,''  cried  Edith,  much  moved  by  the 
unusual  display  of  affection  and  feeling  on  the  part 
of  her  father. 

"  The  others  would  not/'  said  he  bitterly. 

"  Indeed,  papa,  I  think  they  would  if  they  only 
knew.  We  would  all  do  anything  to  see  you 
your  old  jovial  self  again.  Give  up  this  wretched 
struggle  ;  tell  Mr.  Fox  to  do  his  worst.  I  am  not 
afraid  of  being  poor  ;  I  am  sure  we  could  work  up 
again." 

"You  know  nothing  about  poverty,"  sighed 
her  father.  "  When  you  are  down,  the  world  that 
bowed  at  your  feet,  will  run  over  and  trample  on 
4 


74  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DO? 

you.  I  have  seen  it  so  often,  but  never  thought 
of  danger  to  me  and  mine.'' 

"But  this  party,"  said  tne  practical  Edith, 
"why  not  give  this  up?  It  wHl  cost  a  great  deal." 

"  By  no  means  give  it  up,"  said  her  father.  "  It 
may  help  me  very  much.  My  credit  is  everything 
now.  The  appearance  of  wealth  which  such  a 
display  insures,  will  do  much  to  secure  the  wealth. 
I  am  watched  day  and  night,  and  must  show  no 
sign  of  weakness.  Go  on  with  the  party  and  make 
it  as  brilliant  as  possible.  If  I  fail,  two  or  three 
thousand  will  make  no  difference,  and  it  may  help 
me  to  succeed.  Whatever  strengthens  my  credit 
for  the  next  few  days  is  everything  to  me.  My 
stock  is  rising,  only  it  is  too  slow.  Things  look 
better — if  I  could  only  gain  time.  But  I  am 
very  uneasy — my  head  troubles  me,"  and  he  put 
his  hand  to  his  head,  and  Edith  remembered  how 
often  she  had  seen  him  do  that  of  late. 

"  By  the  way,"  said  he,  abruptly,  "  tell  me  how 
you  get  on  with  Mr.  Fox." 

"  O,  never  mind  about  that  now ;  do  rest  a 
little,  mind  and  body." 

"  No,  tell  me,"  said  her  father  sharply,  showing 
how  little  control  he  had  over  himself. 

"  Well,  I  think  I  have  beaten  him  so  far.  He 
is  very  demonstrative,  and  acts  as  if  I  belonged  to 
him.  Did  I  not  manage  to  always  meet  him  in 
company  with  others,  he  would  come  at  once  to  an 
open  declaration.  As  it  is,  I  cannot  prevent  it 
much  longer.  He  is  coming  this  evening,  and  I 


THE  STORM  THREA  TENING.  75 

fear  he  will  press  matters.  He  seems  to  think  that 
the  asking  is  a  mere  form  and  that  our  extremity 
will  leave  no  choice." 

"  You  must  avoid  him  a  little  longer.  Come, 
we  will  go  to  the  theatre,  and  then  you  might  be 
sick  for  a  few  days/' 

"  In  a  few  minutes  they  were  off,  and  were 
scarcely  well  away  when  Mr.  Fox,  dressed  in  more 
style  than  he  could  carry  gracefully,  appeared. 

"  Miss  Edith  am  out,"  said  Hannibal  loftily. 

"  I  half  believe  you  lie,"  muttered  Mr.  Fox, 
looking  very  black. 

"  Sarch  de  house,  sah.  It  am  a  berry  gentle- 
manly proceeding.'' 

"  Where  has  she  gone,  and  who  did  she  go 
with?" 

"  I  hab  no  orders  to  say,"  said  Hannibal  looking 
fixedly  at  the  ceiling  of  the  vestibule. 

The  knightly  suitor  turned  on  his  heel,  muttering, 
"  They  are  playing  me  false." 

'Twas  a  pity,  and  he  so  true. 

The  next  day  Edith  was  sick  and  Mr.  Allen's 
stock  was  rising.  Hannibal  again  sent  Mr.  Fox 
baffled  away,  but  with  a  dangerous  gleam  in  his 
eyes. 

On  the  following  morning  Mr.  Allen  found  a  note 
on  his  desk.  His  face  grew  livid  as  he  read  it,  and 
he  often  put  his  hand  to  his  head.  He  sat  down 
and  wrote  to  this  effect,  however, — 

"  I  am  arranging  the  partnership  matter  as  rap- 
'dly  as  possible.  In.  regard  to  my  daughter  you  will 


76  trffA  T  CAN  SHE  DO? 

ruin  all  if  you  show  no  more  discretion.  I  can  not 
compel  her  to  marry  you.  You  may  make  it  im« 
possible  to  influence  her  in  your  favor.  You  have 
been  well  received.  What  more  can  you  ask?  A 
matter  of  this  kind  must  be  arranged  delicately." 

Mr  Fox  pondered  over  this  with  a  peculiarly 
foxy  expression.  "  It  sounds  plausible.  If  I  only 
thought  he  was  true,"  soliloquized  this  embodiment 
of  truth. 

Mr.  Allen's  stock  was  higher,  and  Mr.  Fox 
watched  the  rise  grimly,  but  he  saw  Edith,  who 
was  all  smiles,  and  graciousness,  and  gave  him  a 
verbal  invitation  to  her  birthday-party  which  was 
to  take  place  early  in  the  following  week. 

The  fellow  had  considerable  vanity,  and  was  en- 
snared, his  suspicions  quieted  for  the  time.  Valu- 
ing money  himself  supremely,  it  seemed  most  ra- 
tional that  father  and  daughter  should  regard  him 
as  the  most  eligible  young  man  in  the  city. 

Edith's  friends,  and  Gus  in  particular,  were 
rather  astonished  at  the  new  comer.  Laura  was 
frigid  and  remonstrative,  Zell  and  Mr.  Van  Dam 
satirical,  but  Edith  wilfully  tossed  her  head  and 
said,  "  He  was  clever  and  well  off,  and  she  liked  him 
well  enough  to  talk  to  him  a  little.  Society  had 
made  her  a  good  actress.  Meanwhile  on  the  Tues- 
day following  (and  this  was  Friday)  the  long  ear 
pected  party  would  take  place. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  WRECK. 

f)N  Saturday  Mr.  Allen's  stock  was  rising,  and 
^~>^  he  ventured  to  sell  a  little  in  a  quiet  way. 
If  he  "unloaded"  rapidly  and  openly,  he  would 
break  down  the  market. 

Mr.  Fox  watched  events  uneasily.  Mr.  Goul- 
den  grew  genial  and  more  pronounced  in  his  atten- 
tions. Gus,  on  Saturday,  showed  almost  equal 
solicitude  for  a  decisively  favorable  answer  as  Mr. 
Fox,  if  the  language  of  his  eyes  could  mean  any- 
thing; but  Edith  played  him  and  Mr.  Fox  off 
against  each  other  so  adroitly  that  they  were  learn- 
ing to  hate  one  another  as  cordially  as  they  agreed 
in  admiring  her.  Though  she  inclined  in  her  favor 
to  Mr.  Fox,  he  was  suspicious  from  nature,  and 
annoyed  at  never  being  able  to  see  her  alone. 

As  before,  they  were  at  cards  together  in  the 
library,  Edith  went  for  a  moment  into  the  parlor 
to  get  something.  With  the  excuse  of  obtaining 
it  for  her,  Mr.  Fox  followed,  and  the  moment  they 
were  alone,  he  seized  her  hand  and  pressed  a  kiss 
upon  it.  An  angry  flush  came  into  her  face,  but 
by  a -great  effort  she  so  far  controlled  herself  as  to 
put  her  finger  to  her  lips  and  point  to  the  library, 
as  if  her  chief  anxiety  was  that  the  attention  of  its 


78  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DOt 

occupants  should  not  be  excited.  Mr.  Fox  was 
delighted,  though  the  angry  flush  was  a  little  puz- 
zling. But  if  Edith  permitted  that,  she  would 
permit  more,  and  if  her  only  shrinking  was  that 
others  should  not  see  and  know  at  present,  that 
could  soon  be  overcome.  These  thoughts  passed 
through  his  mind  while  the  incensed  girl  hastily 
obtained  what  she  wished.  But  she,  feeling  that 
her  cheeks  were  too  hot  to  return  immediately  to 
the  critical  eyes  in  the  library,  passed  out  through 
the  front  parlor,  that  she  might  have  time  to  be 
herself  again  when  she  appeared.  On  what  little 
links  destiny  sometimes  hangs ! 

That  which  changed  all  her  future  and  that  of 
others — that  involving  life  and  death,  occurred  in 
the  half  moment  occupied  in  her  passing  out  of 
the  front  parlor.  The  consequences  she  would 
feel  most  keenly,  terribly  indeed  at  times,  though 
she  might  never  guess  the  cause.  Her  act  was  a 
simple,  natural  one  under  the  circumstances,  and 
yet  it  told  Mr.  Fox,  in  his  cat-like  watchfulness, 
that  with  all  his  cunning  he  was  being  made  a  fool 
of.  The  moment  Edith  had  passed  around  the 
sliding  door  and  thought  herself  unobserved,  an 
expression  of  intense  disgust  came  out  upon  her 
expressive  face,  and  with  her  lace  handkerchief  she 
rubbed  the  hand  he  had  kissed,  as  if  removing  the 
slime  of  a  reptile ;  and  the  large  mirror  at  the 
farther  end  of  the  room  had  faithfully  reflected  the 
suggestive  little  pantomime.  He  saw  and  under- 
stood  all  in  a  flash 


THE  WRECK. 


79 


No  words  could  have  so  plainly  told  her  feeling 
toward  him,  and  he  was  one  of  those  reptiles  that 
could  sting  remorselessly  in  revenge.  The  nature 
of  the  imposition  practiced  upon  him  and  the  fact 
that  it  was  partially  successful  and  might  have 
been  wholly  so,  cut  him  in  the  sorest  spot.  He 
who  thought  himself  able  to  cope  with  the  shrewd- 
est and  most  artful,  had  been  overreached  by  a  girl, 
and  he  saw  at  that  moment,  that  her  purpose  to 
beguile  him  long  enough  for  Mr.  Allen  to  extricate 
himself  from  his  difficulties,  might  have  been  suc- 
cessful. He  had  had  before  an  uneasy  conscious- 
ness that  he  ought  to  act  decisively,  and  now  he 
knew  it. 

"I'm  a  fool — a  cursed  fool,"  he  muttered, 
speaking  the  truth  for  once,  "  but  it's  not  too  late 
yet." 

His  resolution  was  taken  instantly,  but  when 
Edith  appeared  after  a  moment  in  the  library, 
smiling  and  affable  again,  he  seemed  in  good  spir- 
its also,  but  there  was  a  steely,  serpent-like  glitter 
in  his  eyes,  that  made  him  more  repulsive  than  ever. 
But  he  staid  as  late  as  the  others,  knowing  that 
it  might  be  his  last  evening  at  the  Aliens'.  For 
Edith  had  said  as  part  of  her  plan  for  avoiding  Mr 
Fox, — 

"  We  shall  be  too  busy  to  see  any  company  till 
Tuesday  evening,  and  then  we  hope  to  see  you 
all."  - 

Her  sisters  had  assented,  expecting  that  it 
would  be  the  case. 


gO  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOt 

With  a  refinement  of  malice,  Mr.  Fox  sought 
to  give  general  annoyance,  by  a  polite  insolence 
toward  the  others,  which  they  with  difficulty  ignor- 
ed, and  a  lover-like  gallantry  toward  Edith,  which 
was  like  nettles  to  Gus,  and  nauseating  to  her ; 
but  she  did  not  dare  resent  it.  He  could  at  least 
torment  her  a  little  longer. 

At  last  all  were  gone,  and  her  father  coming  in 
from  his  club  said,  drawing  her  aside, — 

"All  right  yet?" 

"  Yes,  but  I  hope  the  ordeal  will  be  over  soon, 
or  I  shall  die  with  disgust,  or  like  some  I  have  read 
of  in  fairy  stories,  be  killed  by  a  poisonous  breath.'' 

"  Keep  it  up  a  little  longer,  that  is  a  good  brave 
girl.  I  think  that  by  another  week,  we  will  be 
able  to  defy  him/'  said  her  father  in  cheerful  tones. 
"  If  my  stock  rises  as  much  in  the  next  few  days,  as 
of  late,  I  shall  soon  be  on  terra  firma." 

If  he  had  known  that  the  mine  beneath  his 
feet  was  loaded,  and  the  fuse  fired,  his  full  face 
would  have  become  as  pale  as  it  was  florid  with 
wine,  and  the  dissipation  of  the  evening. 

Monday  morning  came — all  seemed  quiet.  Hu 
stock  was  rising  so  rapidly  that  he  determined  tc 
hold  on  a  little  longer. 

Goulden  met  and  congratulated  him,  saying  that 
he  had  bought  a  little  himself,  and  would  take 
more  if  Mr.  Allen  would  sell,  as  now  he  was  easier 
in  funds  than  when  spoken  to  before  on  the  subject 

Mr.  Allen  replied  rather  coldly  that  he  "  would 
not  sell  any  stock  that  day." 


THE  WRECK.  8l 

Mr.  Fox  kept  out  of  the  way,  and  quietly  at- 
tended to  his  routine  as  usual,  but  there  was 
a  sardonic  smile  on  his  face,  as  if  he  were  gloating 
over  some  secret  evil. 

Tuesday,  the  long  expected  day  that  the  Al- 
iens believed  would  make  one  of  the  most  brilliant 
epochs  in  their  history,  dawned  in  appropriate 
brightness.  The  sun  dissipated  the  few  opposing 
clouds  and  declined  in  undimmed  splendor,  and 
Edith,  who  alone  had  fears  and  forebodings,  took 
the  day  as  an  omen  that  the  storm  had  passed,  and 
that  better  days  than  ever  were  coming. 

Invitations  by  the  hundred,  with  imposing 
monogram  and  coat  of  arms,  had  gone  out,  and 
acceptances  had  flowed  back  in  full  current.  All 
that  lavish  expenditure  could  secure  in  one  of  the 
most  luxurious  social  centres  of  the  world,  had 
been  obtained  without  stint  to  make  the  entertain- 
ment perfect. 

But  one  knew  it  might  become  like  Belshazzar's 
feast. 

The  avalanche  often  hangs  over  the  Alpine 
passes  so  that  a  loud  word  will  bring  it  whirling 
down  upon  the  hapless  traveller,  The  avalanche 
of  ruin,impending  over  Mr.  Allen,  was  so  delicately 
poised  that  a  whisper  could  precipitate  its  crush- 
ing weight,  and  that  whisper  had  been  spoken.  < 

All  the  morning  of  Tuesday  his  stock  was  ris- 
ing, and  he  resolved  that  on  the  morning  after  the 
party  he  would  commence  selling  rapidly,  and  so 


82  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DO  f 

far  from  being  broken,  he  would  realize  much  of 
the  profit  that  he  had  expected. 

But  a  rumor  was  floating  through  the  after- 
noon papers  that  a  well-known  merchant,  eminent 
in  financial  and  social  circles,  had  been  detected  in 
violating  the  revenue  laws,  and  that  the  losses 
which  such  violation  would  involve  to  him,  would 
be  immense.  The  stock  market,  more  sensitive 
than  a  belle's  vanity,  paused  to  see  what  it  meant. 
One  of  Mr.  Allen's  partners  of  the  cloth  house 
brought  a  paper  to  him.  He  grew  pale  as  he  read 
it,  put  his  hand  suddenly  to  his  head,  but  after  a 
moment  seemingly  found  his  voice  and  said, — 

"Could  Fox  have  been  so  dastardly?" 

Hir.  partner  shrugged  his  shoulder  as  much 
as  to  say,  "  Fox  could  do  anything  in  that  line." 

Mr.  Allen  sent  for  Fox,  but  he  could  not  be 
found.  In  the  meantime  the  stock  market  closed 
and  the  rise  of  his  stock  was  evidently  checked  for 
the  moment. 

Py  reason  of  the  party,  Mr.  Allen  had  to  re- 
turn up  town,  but  he  arranged  with  his  partner  to 
remarn  and  if  anything  new  developed  to  send 
word  by  special  messenger. 

By  eight  o'clock  the  Allen  mansion  on  Fifth 
Avenue  was  all  aglow  with  light.  By  nine,  car- 
riages began  to  roll  up  to  the  awning  that  stretched 
frorr  the  heavy  arched  doorway  across  the  sidewalk, 
and  'adies  that  would  soon  glide  through  the  spa- 
ciou  »  rooms  in  elegant  drapery,  now  seemed  mis- 
shaj  en  bundles  in  their  wrapping,  and  gathered 


THE  WRECK.  83 

up  dresses  as  they  hurried  out  of  the  publicity  of 
the  street.  The  dressing  rooms  where  the  sphe- 
roidal bundles  were  undergoing  metamorphose  be- 
came buzzing  centres  of  life. 

Before  the  long  pier  glasses  there  was  a  mar- 
shalling of  every  charm,  real  or  borrowed,  (more  cor- 
rectly bought)  in  view  of  the  hoped-for  conquests 
of  the  evening,  and  it  would  seem  that  not  a  few 
went  on  the  military  maxim  that  success  is  often 
secured  by  putting  on  as  bold  a  front,  and  making 
as  great  and  startling  display,  as  possible.  But  as 
fragrant,  modest  flowers  usually  bloom  in  the  gar- 
den with  gaudy  scentless  ones,  so  those  inclined  to 
be  loud  made  an  excellent  foil  for  the  refined  and 
elegant,  and  thus  had  their  uses.  There  is  little  in 
the  world  that  is  not  of  value,  looking  at  it  from 
some  point  of  view. 

In  another  apartment  the  opposing  forces,  if  we 
may  so  style  them,  were  almost  as  eagerly  investing 
themselves  in — shall  we  say  charms  also  ?  or  rather 
with  the  attributes  of  manhood  ?  At  any  rate  the 
glass  in  each  room  seems  quite  as  anxiously  con- 
sulted. One  might  almost  imagine  them  the  magic 
mirrors  of  prophecy  in  which  anxious  eyes  caught 
a  glimpse  of  coming  fate.  There  were  certain 
youthful  belles  and  beaux  who  turned  away  with 
open  complaisant  smiles,  vanity  whispering  plainly 
to  them  of  noble  achievement  in  the  parlors  below. 
There  were  others,  perhaps  not  young,  who  turned 
away  with  faces  composed  in  the  rigid  and  habitu- 
al lines  of  pride.  They  were  past  learning  any- 


i  i  WIIA  T  CAN  SHE  DO  I 

thl»\>  from  the  mirror,  or  from  any  other  source 
that  might  reflect  disparagingly  upon  them.  Pre- 
judice in  their  own  favor  enveloped  their  minds  as 
with  a  Chinese  wall.  Cor.ceit  had  become  a  disease 
with  them,  and  those  faculties  that  might  have 
let  in  wholesome,  though  unwelcome  truth,  were 
paralyzed. 

But  the  majority  turned  away  not  quite  satis- 
fied— with  an  inward  foreboding  that  all  was  not  as 
well  as  it  might  be — that  critical  eyes  would  see 
ground  for  criticism.  Especially  was  this  true  of 
those  whom  Time's  interfering  fingers  had  pulled 
somewhat  awry,  even  beyond  the  remedy  of  art, 
and  of  those  whose  bank  account,  jewels,  silks,  etc., 
were  not  quite  up  to  the  standard  of  some  others 
who  might  jostle  them  in  the  crush.  Realize,  my 
reader,  the  anguish  of  a  lady  compelled  to  stand 
by  another  lady  wearing  larger  diamonds  than  her 
own,  or  more  point  lace,  or  a  longer  train  ?  What 
will  the  world  think,  as  under  the  chandelier  this 
painful  contrast  comes  out?  Such  moments  of 
deep  humiliation  cause  sleepless  nights,  and  the 
next  day  result  in  bills  that  become  as  crushing  as 
criminal  indictments  to  poor  overworked  men. 
Under  the  impulse  of  such  trying  scenes  as  these, 
many  a  matron  has  gone  forth  on  Broadway  with 
firm  lips  and  eyes  in  which  glowed  inexorable  pur- 
pose, and  placed  the  gems  that  would  be  mill-stones 
about  her  husband's  neck,  on  the  fat  arms  or  fin- 
gers that  might  have  helped  him  forward.  There 
are  many  phases  of  heroism,  but  if  you  want  your 


-.  THE    WRECK.  85 

breath  quite  taken  away,  go  to  Tiffany's,  and  see 
some  large-souled  woman,  who  will  not  even  count 
the  cost  or  realize  the  dire  consequences,  how,  like 
some  martyr  of  the  past  who  would  show  to  the 
world  the  object  of  his  faith  though  the  heavens 
fell,  she  marches  to  the  counter,  selects  the  costli- 
est, and  says  in  tones  of  majesty, — 

"  Send  the  bill  to  my  husband  ! " 

O  acme  of  faith  !  The  martyrs  knew  that  the 
Almighty  was  equal  to  the  occasion.  She  knows 
that  her  husband  is  not  ;  yet  she  trusts,  or  what  is 
the  same  thing  here,  gets  trusted.  Men  allied  to 
such  women  are  soon  lifted  up  to — attics.  It  is 
still  true  that  great  deeds  bring  humanity  nearer 
heaven ! 

Therefore,  my  reader,  deem  it  not  trivial  that  I 
have  paused  so  long  over  the  Aliens'  party.  It  is 
philosophical  to  trace  great  events  and  phenomenal 
human  action  to  their  hidden  causes. 

There  were  also  diffident  men  and  maidens  who 
descended  into  the  social  arena  of  Mrs.  Allen's 
parlors,  as  awkward  swimmers  venture  into  deep 
water,  but  this  is  fleeting  experience  in  fashionable 
life.  And  we  sincerely  hope  that  some  believed 
that  the  old  divine  parodox,  "  It  is  more  blessed  to 
give  than  to  receive,"  is  as  true  in  the  drawing- 
room  as  when  the  contribution-box  goes  round, 
and  proposed  to  enjoy  themselves  by  contributing 
to  the  enjoyment  of  others,  and  to  see  nothing 
that  would  tempt  to  heroic  conduct  at  Tiffany's 
the  next  day. 


86  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DO  f 

When  the  last  finishing  touches  had  been  given, 
and  maids  and  hairdressers  stood  around  in  wrapt 
politic  breathlessness,  and  were  beginning  to  pass 
into  that  stage  in  which  they  might  be  regarded  as 
exclamation  points,  Mrs.  Allen  and  her  daughters 
swept  away  to  take  their  places  at  the  head  of  the 
parlors  in  order  to  receive.  They  liked  the  prelude 
of  applause  upstairs  well  enough,  but  then  it  was 
only  like  the  tuning  of  the  instruments  before  the 
orchestra  fairly  opens. 

Mrs.  Allen,  as  she  majestically  took  her  position, 
evidently  belonged  to  that  class  whom  pride  mar- 
bleizes.  Her  self-complacency  on  such  an  occasion 
was  habitual,  her  coolness  and  repose  that  of  a 
veteran.  A  nervous  creature  up  stairs  with  her 
family,  excitement  made  her,  under  the  eye  of 
society,  so  steady  and  self-controlled  that  she  was 
like  one  of  the  old  French  Marshals  who  could  plan 
a  campaign  under  the  hottest  fire.  Her  blue  eyes 
grew  quite  brilliant  and  seemed  to  take  in  every- 
thing, like  your  true  general.  Some  natural  color 
shone  where  the  cosmetics  permitted,  and  her  form 
seemed  to  dilate  with  something  more  than  the 
mysteries  of  French  modistes.  Her  manner  and 
expression  said, — 

"  I  am  Mrs.  Allen.  We  are  of  an  old  New 
York  family.  We  are  very,  very  rich.  This  enter- 
tainment is  immensely  expensive  and  perfect  in 
kind.  I  defy  criticism.  I  expect  applause." 

Of  course  this  was  all  veiled  by  society's  com- 
pletest  polish  ;  but  still  by  a  close  observer  it  could 


THE  WRECK.  %y 

be  seen,  just  as  a  skilful  sculptor  drapes  a  form  but 
leaves  its  outlines  perfect. 

Laura  was  the  echo  of  her  mother,  modified  by 
the  element  of  youth. 

Zell  fairly  blazed.  Between  sparkling  jewelry, 
flaming  cheeks,  flashing  eyes,  and  words  thrown  off 
like  scintillating  sparks,  she  suggested  an  exquisite 
July  firework,  burning  longer  than  usual  and  sur- 
prising every  one.  Admiration  followed  her  like  a 
torrent,  and  her  vanity  dilated  without  measure  as 
attention  and  compliments  were  almost  forced 
upon  her,  and  yet  it  was  frank,  good-natured  vanity, 
as  naturally  to  be  expected  in  her  case  as  a  throng 
of  gaudy  poppies  where  a  handful  of  seed  had  been 
dropped.  Zell's  nature  was  a  soil  where  good  or 
bad  seed  would  grow  vigorously. 

Mr.  Van  Dam  was  never  far  off,  watching  with 
intent  gloating  eyes,  saying  in  self-congratula- 
tion,— 

"  What  a  delicious  morsel  she  will  make,"  and 
adding  his  mite  to  the  general  chorus  of  flattery, 
by  mild  assertions  like  the  following: 

"  Do  you  know  that  there  is  not  a  lady  present 
that  for  a  moment  can  compare  with  you  ?  " 

"  How  delightfully  frank  he  is,"  thought  Zell  of 
her  distinguished  admirer,  who  was  as  open  as  a 
quicksand  that  can  swallow  up  anything  and  leave 
not  a  trace  on  its  placid  surface. 

Edith  was  quite  as  beautiful  as  Zell,  but  nothing 
like  so  brilliant  and  pronounced.  Though  quiet 
and  graceful,  she  was  not  stately  like  Laura.  Her 


88  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOt 

full  dark  eyes  were  lustrous  rather  than  sparkling, 
and  they  dwelt  shrewdly  and  comprehendingly  on 
all  that  was  passing,  and  conveyed  their  intelligence 
to  a  brain  that  was  judging  quite  accurately  of 
men  and  things  at  a  time  when  so  many  people 
"lose  their  head." 

Zell  was  intoxicated  by  the  incense  she  re- 
ceived. Laura  offered  herself  so  much  that  she  was 
enshrouded  in  a  thick  cloud  of  complacency  all  the 
time.  Edith  was  told  by  the  eyes  and  manner  of 
those  around  her  that  she  was  beautiful  and  highly 
favored  by  wealth  and  position  generally.  But  she 
knew  this,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  before,  and  did  not 
mean  to  make  a  fool  of  herself  on  account  of  it. 
These  points  thoroughly  settled  and  quietly  real- 
ized, she  was  in  a  condition  to  go  out  of  herself  and 
enjoy  all  that  was  going  on. 

She  was  specially  elated  at  this  time  also,  as  she. 
had  gathered  from  her  father's  words  that  his  dan- 
ger  was  nearly  over  and  that  before  the  week  waa 
out  they  could  defy  Mr.  Fox,  look  forward  to  Eu- 
rope and  bright  voyaging  generally. 

Mr.  Allen  did  not  tell  her  his  terrible  fear  that 
Mr.  Fox  had  been  a  little  too  prompt,  and  that 
crushing  disaster  might  still  be  impending.  He 
had  said  to  himself,  "  Let  her  and  all  of  them  make 
the  most  of  this  evening.  It  may  be  the  last  of 
the  kind  that  they  will  enjoy." 

The  spacious  parlors  filled  rapidly.  If  lavish 
expenditure  and  a  large  brilliant  attendance  could 
ensure  their  enjoyment,  it  was  not  wanting.  Flow- 


THE   WRECK.  89 

crs  in  fanciful  baskets  on  the  tables  and  in  great 
banks  on  the  mantels  and  in  the  fire-places,  deserv- 
edly attracted  much  attention  and  praise,  though 
the  sum  expended  on  their  transient  beauty  was 
appalling.  Their  delicious  fragrance  mingling  with 
perfumes  of  artificial  origin,  suggested  a  like  inter- 
mingling of  the  more  delicate,  subtile,  but  genu- 
ine manifestations  of  character,  and  the  graces  of 
mind  and  manner  borrowed  for  the  occasion. 

The  scene  was  very  brilliant.  There  were  mar- 
vellous toilets — dresses  not  beginning  as  promptly 
as  they  should,  perhaps,  but  seemingly  seeking  to 
make  up  for  this  deficiency  by  elegance  and  costli- 
ness, having  once  commenced.  There  was  no 
economy  in  the  train,  if  there  had  been  in  the  waist. 
Therefore  gleaming  shoulders,  glittering  diamonds, 
the  soft  radiaftce  of  pearls,  the  sheen  of  gold,  and 
lustrous  eyes  aglow  with  excitement,  and  later  in 
the  evening,  with  wine,  gave  a  general  phosphores- 
cent effect  to  the  parlors  that  Mrs.  Allen  recognized, 
from  long  experience,  as  the  sparkling  crown  of 
success.  So  much  elegance  on  the  part  of  the 
ladies  present  would  make  the  party  the  gem  of 
the  season,  and  the  gentlemen  in  dark  dress  made 
a  good  black  enamel  setting. 

There  was  a  confused  rustle  of  silks  and  a  hum 
of  voices,  and  now  and  then  a  silvery  laugh  would 
ring  out  above  these  like  the  trill  of  a  bird  in  a 
breezy  grove.  Later,  light  airy  music  floated 
through  the  rooms,  followed  by  the  rhythmic  ca- 
dence of  feet.  A  thinly  clad  shivering  little  match 


90  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOt 

girl  stopped  on  her  weary  tramp  to  her  cellar  and 
caught  glimpses  of  the  scene  through  the  oft  open- 
ing  door  and  between  the  curtains  of  the  windows. 
It  seemed  to  her  that  those  glancing  forms  were 
in  heaven.  Alas  for  this  earthly  paradise  ! 

Mr.  Fox,  with  characteristic  malice,  had  managed 
that  Mr.  Allen  and  perhaps  the  family  should  have, 
as  his  contribution  to  the  entertainment,  the  sick- 
ening dread  which  the  news  in  the  afternoon  papers 
would  occasion.  As  the  evening  advanced  he  de- 
termined to  accept  the  invitation  and  watch  the 
effect.  He  avoided  Mr.  Allen,  and  soon  gathered 
that  Edith  and  the  rest  knew  nothing  of  the  im- 
pending blow.  .  Edith  smiled  graciously  on  him ; 
she  felt  that  like  the  sun,  she  could  shine  on  all 
that  night.  But  as  in  his  insolence,  his  attentions 
grew  marked,  she  soon  shook  him  off  by  permitting 
Gus  Elliot  to  claim  her  for  a  waltz. 

Mr.  Fox  glided  around,  Mephistopheles-like, 
gloating  on  the  sinister  changes  that  he  would  soon 
occasion.  He  was  to  succeed  even  better  than  he 
dreamed. 

The  evening  went  forward  with  music  and  danc- 
ing, discussing,  disparaging,  flirting  and  skirmishing, 
culminating  in  numbers  and  brilliancy  as  some  gor- 
geous flower  might  expand  ;  and  seemingly  it  would 
have  ended  by  the  gay  company's  rustling  depart- 
ure like  the  flower,  as  the  varied  colored  petals  drop 
away  from  the  stem,  had  not  an  event  occurred 
which  was  like  a  rude  hand  plucking  the  flower  in 
its  fullest  bloom  and  tearing  the  petals  away  in  mass 


THE  WRECK.  91 

The  magnificent  supper  had  just  been  demol- 
ished. Champagne  had  foamed  without  stint, 
cause  and  symbol  of  the  increasing  but  transient 
excitement  of  the  occasion.  More  potent  wines  and 
liquors,  suggestive  of  the  stronger  and  deeper  pas- 
sions that  were  swaying  the  mingled  throng,  had 
done  their  work,  and  all,  save  the  utterly  blase  and 
run  down,  had  secured  that  noble  elevation  which 
it  is  the  province  of  these  grand  social  combina- 
tions to  create.  Even  Mr.  Allen  regained  his  hab- 
itual confidence  and  elevation  as  his  waistcoat  ex- 
panded under,  or  rather  over,  those  means  of  cheer 
and  consolation  which  he  had  so  long  regarded  as 
the  best  panacea  for  earthly  ills.  The  oppressive 
sense  of  danger  gave  place  to  a  Consciousness  of 
the  warm,  rosy  present.  Mr.  Fox  and  the  custom 
house  seemed  but  the  ugly  phantoms  of  a  past 
dream.  Was  he  not  the  rich  Mr.  Allen,  the  owner 
of  this  magnificent  mansion,  the  corner-stone  of 
this  superb  entertainment  ?  If  by  reason  of  wine 
he  saw  a  little  double,  he  only  saw  double  homage 
on  every  side.  He  heard  in  men's  tones,  and  saw 
in  women's  glances,  that  any  one  who  could  pay 
for  his  surroundings  that  night,  was  no  ordinary 
person.  His  wife  looked  majestic  as  she  swept 
through  the  parlors  on  the  arm  of  one  of  his  most 
distinguished  fellow-citizens.  Through  the  library 
door  he  could  see  Mr.  Goulden  leaning  toward 
Laura  and  saying  something  that  made  even  her 
pale  face  quite  peony-like.  Edith,  exquisite  as  a 
moss  rose,  was  about  to  lead  off  in  the  German  in 


^2  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DOf 

the  large  front  parlor.  Zell  was  near  him,  the 
sparkling  centre  of  a  breezy,  merry  little  throng 
that  had"  gathered  round  her.  It  seemed  that  all 
that  he  loved  and  valued  most — all  that  he  wished, 
was  grouped  around  him  in  the  guise  most  attract- 
ive to  his  worldly  eyes.  In  this  moment  of  un- 
natural elation,  hope  whispered,  "  To-morrow 
you  can  sell  your  stock,  and  instead  of  failing,  in- 
crease your  vast  fortune,  and  then  away  to  new 
scenes,  new  pleasures,  free  from  the  burden  of  care 
and  fear."  It  was  at  that  moment  of  false  confi- 
dence and  pride,  when  in  suggestive  words  descrip- 
tive of  the  ancient  tragedy  of  Belshazzar  he  "  had 
drank  wine  and  praised  the  gods  of  gold  and  of 
silver,"  that  he  had  so  long  worshipped,  and  which 
had  secured  to  him  all  that  so  dilates  his  soul  with 
exultation,  that  he  saw  the  handwriting,  not  of 
shadowy  fingers  "  upon  the  wall,"  but  of  his  partner, 
sent,  as  agreed,  by  a  special  messenger.  With  re- 
vulsion and  chill  of  fear  he  had  torn  open  the  en- 
velope and  read, — 

"  Fox  has  done  his  worst.  We  are  out  for  a 
million — All  will  be  in  the  morning  papers." 

Even  his  florid,  wine-inflamed  cheeks  grew  pale, 
and  he  raised  his  hand  tremblingly  to  his  head,  and 
slowly  lifted  his  eyes  like  a  man  who  dreads  seeing 
something,  but  is  impelled  to  look.  The  first  ob- 
ject they  rested  on  was  the  sardonic,  mocking 
face  of  Mr.  Fox,  who,  ever  on  the  alert,  had  seen 
the  messenger  enter,  and  guessed  his  errand.  The 
moment  Mr.  Allen  saw  this  hated  visage,  a  sudden 


THE  WRECK. 


93 


fuiy  took  possession  of  him.  He  crushed  the  mis- 
sive  in  his  clenched  fist,  and  took  a  hasty  stride  of 
wrath  toward  his  tormentor,  stopped,  put  his  hand 
again  to  his  head,  a  film  came  over  his  eyes,  he  reel- 
ed a  second,  and  then  fell  like  a  stone  to  the  floor. 
The  heavy  thud  of  the  fall,  the  clash  of  the  chande- 
lier overhead,  could  be  heard  throughout  the  rooms 
above  the  music  and  hum  of  voices,  and  all  were 
startled.  Edith  in  the  very  act  of  leading  off  in 
the  dance,  stood  a  second  like  an  exquisite  statue 
of  awed  expectancy,  and  then  Zell's  shriek  of  fear 
and  agony,  "  Father !  "  brought  her  to  the  spot, 
and  with  wild,  frightened  eyes,  and  blanched  faces» 
the  two  girls  knelt  above  the  unconscious  man, 
while  the  startled  guests  gathered  round  in  helpless 
curiosity. 

The  usual  paralysis  following  sudden  accident 
was  brief  on  this  occasion,  for  there  were  two  skill- 
ful physicians  present,  one  of  them  having  long 
been  the  family  attendant.  Mrs.  Allen  and  Laura, 
in  a  half  hysterical  state,  stood  clinging  to  each 
other,  supported  by  Mr.  Goulden,  as  the  medical 
gentlemen  made  a  slight  examination  and  applied 
restoratives.  After  a  moment  they  lifted  their 
heads  and  looked  gravely  and  significantly  at  each 
other ;  then  the  family  adviser  said, — 

"  Mr.  Allen  had  better  be  carried  at  once  to  his 
room,  and  the  house  become  quiet." 

An  injudicious  guest,  asked  in  a  loud  whisper, 
'  Is  it  apoplexy  ?  " 

Mrs.  Allen  caught  the  word,  and  with  a  stifled 


94  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOf 

cry  fainted  dead  away,  and  was  borne  to  her  apart- 
ment in  an  unconscious  state.  Laura,  who  had  in- 
herited Mrs.  Allen's  nervous  nature,  was  also  con- 
veyed to  her  room,  laughing  and  crying  in  turns 
beyond  all  control.  Zell  still  knelt  over  her  father, 
sobbing  passionately,  while  Edith,  with  her  large 
eyes  dilated  with  fear,  and  her  cheeks  in  wan  con* 
trast  with  the  sunset  glow  they  had  worn  all  the 
evening,  maintained  her  presence  of  mind,  and  ask- 
ed Mr.  Goulden,  Mr.  Van  Dam,  and  Gus  Elliot,  to 
carry  her  father  to  his  room.  They,  much  pleased 
in  thus  being  singled  out  as  special  friends  of  the 
family,  officiously  obeyed. 

Poor  Mr.  Allen  was  borne  away  from  the  pinna- 
cle of  his  imaginary  triumph  as  if  dead,  Zell  follow- 
ing, wringing  her  hands,  and  with  streaming  eyes  : 
but  Edith  reminded  you  of  some  wild,  timid  crea- 
ture of  the  woods,  which,  though  in  an  extremity 
of  danger  and  fear,  is  alert  and  watchful,  as  if  look- 
ing for  some  avenue  of  escape.  Her  searching 
eyes  turned  almost  constantly  towards  the  family 
physician,  and  he  as  persistently  avoided  meeting 
hen. 


CHAITER  VII. 

AMONG  THE  BREAKERS. 

A  FTER  another  brief  but  fuller  examination  of 
Mr.  Allen  in  the  privacy  of  his  own  room, 
Dr.  Mark  went  down  to  the  parlors.  The  guests 
were  gathered  in  little  groups,  talking  in  low,  ex- 
cited whispers  ;  those  who  had  seen  the  reading  of 
the  note  and  Mr.  Allen's  strange  action,  gaining 
brief  eminence  by  their  repeated  statements  of 
what  they  had  witnessed,  and  their  varied  sur- 
mises. The  role  of  commentator,  if  mysterious 
human  action  be  the  text,  is  always  popular,  and 
as  this  explanatory  class  are  proverbially  gifted  in 
conjecture,  there  were  many  theories  of  explana- 
tion. Some  of  the  guests  had  already  the  good 
taste  to  prepare  for  departure,  and  when  Dr. 
Mark  appeared  from  the  sick  room,  and  said, — 

"-Mr.  Allen  and  the  family  will  be  unable  to 
appear  again  this  evening.  I  am  under  the  pain- 
ful necessity  of  saying  that  this  occasion,  that 
opened  so  brilliantly,  must  now  come  to  sad  and 
sudden  end.  I  will  convey  your  adieux  and  ex- 
pressions of  sympathy  to  the  family" — there  was 
a  general  move  to  the  dressing-rooms.  The 
Doctor  was  overwhelmed  for  a  moment  with  ex- 


96  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOt 

pressions  of  sympathy,  that  in  the  main  were  felt, 
and  well  questioned  by  eager  and  genuine  curi- 
osity, for  Fox  had  dropped  some  mysterious  hints 
during  the  evening,  which  had  been  quietly  circu- 
lating But  Dr.  Mark  was  professionally  non-com- 
mittal, and  soon  excused  himself  that  he  might 
attend  to  his  patient. 

The  house,  that  seemingly  a  moment  before 
was  ablaze  with  light  and  resounding  with  fashion- 
able revelry,  suddenly  became  still,  and  grew 
darker  and  darker,  as  if  the  shadowing  wings  of  the 
dreaded  angel  were  drawing  very  near.  In  the 
large,  elegant  rooms,  where  so  brief  a  time  since 
gems  and  eyes  vied  in  brightness,  old  Hannibal 
now  walks  alone  with  his  silent  tread,  and  a  pecu- 
liarly awed  and  solemn  visage.  One  by  one  he  ex- 
tinguished the  lights,  leaving  but  faint  glimmers 
here  and  there,  that  were  like  a  few  forlorn  hopes 
struggling  against  the  increasing  darkness  of  dis- 
aster. Under  his  breath  he  kept  repeating  fer- 
vently, "  De  Lord  hab  mercy,"  and  this,  perhaps, 
was  the  only  intelligent  prayer  that  went  up  from 
that  stricken  household  in  this  hour  of  sudden 
danger  and  alarm.  Though  we  believe  the  Divine 
Father  sees  the  dumb  agony  of  his  creatures,  and 
pities  them,  and  often  when  they,  like  the  drown- 
ing, are  grasping  at  straws  of  human  help  and 
cheer,  puts  out  His  strong  hand  and  holds  them 
up;  still  it  is  in  accordance  with  His  just  law  that 
those  who  seek  and  value  His  friendship  find  it 
and  possess  it  in  adversity.  The  height  of  the 


AMONG  THE  BREAKERS.  §j 

storm  and  the  middle  of  the  angry  Atlantic  is  a 
poor  time  and  a  poor  place  to  provide  life-boats* 

The  Aliens  had  never  looked  to  Heaven,  save 
as  a  matter  of  form.  They  had  a  pew  in  a  fash- 
ionable church,  but  were  not  very  regular  attend- 
ants, and  such  attendance  had  done  scarcely  any- 
thing to  awaken  or  quicken  their  spiritual  life. 
They  came  home  and  gossiped  about  the  appear- 
ance of  their  "  set,"  and  perhaps  criticized  the 
music,  but  one  would  never  have  dreamed  from 
manner  or  conversation  that  they  had  gone  to  a 
sacred  place  to  worship  God  in  humility.  Indeed, 
scarcely  a  thought  of  Him  seemed  to  have  dwelt 
in  their  minds.  Religious  faith  had  never  been  of 
any  practical  help,  and  now  in  their  extremity  it 
seemed  utterly  intangible,  and  in  no  sense  to  be 
depended  on. 

When  Mrs.  Allen  recovered  from  her  swoon, 
and  Laura  had  gained  some  self-control,  they  sent 
for  Dr.  Mark,  and  eagerly  suggested  both  their 
hope  and  fear. 

"It's  only  a  fainting  fit,  doctor,  is  it  not?  Will 
he  not  soon  be  better?" 

"My  dear  madam,  we  will  do  all  we  can," 
said  the  doctor,  with  that  professional  solemnity 
which  is  like  reading  a  death  warrant,  "  but  it  is  my 
painful  duty  to  tell  you  to  prepare  for  the  worst. 
Your  husband  has  an  attack  of  apoplexy." 

•  He  had  scarcely  uttered  the  words  before  she 
was  again  in  a  swoon,  and  Laura  also  lost  her  tran- 
sient quietness.     Leaving  his  assistant  and   Mrs, 
5 


gS  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DOt 

Allen's  maid  to  take  care  of  them,  he  went  back  to 
his  graver  charge. 

Mr.  Allen  lay  insensible  on  his  bed,  and  one 
could  hardly  realize  that  he  was  a  dying  man. 
His  face  was  as  flushed  and  full  as  it  often  ap- 
peared on  his  return  from  his  club.  To  the  girls' 
unpracticed  ears,  his  loud  stertorous  breathing  only 
indicated  heavy  sleep.  But  neither  they  nor  the 
doctor  could  arouse  him,  and  at  last  the  physician 
met  Edith's  questioning  eyes,  and  gravely  and 
significantly  shook  his  head.  Though  she  had 
borne  up  so  steadily  and  quietly,  he  felt  more  for 
her  than  for  any  of  the  others. 

"O,  doctor,  can't  you  save  him?  *'  she  pleaded. 

"  You  must  save  him,"  cried  Zell,  her  eyes 
flashing  through  her  tears,  "  I  would  be  ashamed, 
if  I  were  a  physician,  to  stand  over  a  strong  man, 
and  say  helplessly,  '  I  can  do  nothing.'  Is  this  all 
your  boasted  skill  amounts  to?  Either  do  some- 
thing at  once  or  let  us  get  some  one  who  will." 

"Your  feelings  to-night,  Miss  Zell,"  said  the 
doctor  quietly,  "  will  excuse  anything  you  say,  how- 
ever wild  and  irrational.  I  am  doing  all-—" 

"  I  am  not  wild  or  unreasonable,"  cried  Zell. 
"  I  only  demand  that  my  father's  life  be  saved.' 
Then  starting  up  she  threw  off  a  shawl  and  stood 
before  Doctor  Mark  in  the  dress  she  had  worn  in 
the  evening,  that  seemed  a  sad  mockery  in  that 
room  of  death.  Her  neck  and  arms  were  bare, 
and  even  the  cool,  experienced  physician  was 
startled  by  her  wonderful  beauty  and  strange  man- 


AMONG  THE  BREAKERS.  99 

ner.  Her  white  throat  was  convulsed,  her  bosom 
heaved  tumultuously,  and  on  her  face  was  the  ex- 
pression that  might  have  rested  on  the  face  of  a 
maiden  like  herself  centuries  before,  when  shown 
the  rack  and  dungeon,  and  told  to  choose  between 
her  faith  and  her  life. 

But  after  a  moment  she  extended  her  white 
rounded  arm  toward  him  and  said  steadily, — 

"  I  have  read  that  if  the  blood  of  a  young,  vig- 
orous person  is  infused  into  another  who  is  feeble 
and  old,  it  will  give  renewed  strength  and  health. 
Open  a  vein  in  my  arm.  Save  his  life  if  you  take 
mine." 

"You  are  a  brave,  noble  girl,"  said  Doctor 
Mark,  with  much  emotion,  taking  the  extended 
hand  and  pressing  it  tenderly,  "  but  you  are  asking 
what  is  impossible  in  this  case.  Do  you  not  re- 
member that  I  am  an  old  friend  of  your  father's? 
It  grieves  me  to  the  heart  that  his  attack  is  so 
severe  that  I  fear  all  within  the  reach  of  human 
skill  is  vain." 

Zell,  who  was  a  creature  of  impulse,  and  often 
of  noblest  impulse,  as  we  have  seen,  now  reacted 
into  a  passion  of  weeping,  and  sank  helplessly  on 
the  floor.  She  was  capable  of  heroic  action,  but 
she  had  no  strength  for  woman's  lot,  which  is  so 
often  that  of  patient  endurance. 

Edith  came  and  put  her  arms  around  her,  and 
with  gentle,  soothing  words,  as  if  speaking  to  a 
child,  half  carried  her  to  her  room,  where  she  at 
last  sobbed  herself  asleep. 


100  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOt 

For  another  hour  Edith  and  the  doctor  watched 
alone,  and  the  dying  man  sank  rapidly,  going  down 
into  the  darkness  of  death  without  word  or  sign. 

"  Oh,  that  he  would  speak  once  Liore,"  moaned 
Edith. 

"  I  fear  he  will  not,  my  dear,"  said  the  doctor, 
pitifully. 

A  little  later  Mr.  Allen  was  motionless,  like  one 
who  has  been  touched  in  unquiet  sleep  and  be- 
comes still.  Death  had  touched  him,  and  a  deeper 
sleep  had  fallen  upon  him. 

****** 

One  of  the  great  daily  bulletins  will  go  to  press 
in  an  hour.  A  reporter  jumps  into  a  waiting  hack 
and  is  driven  rapidly  up  town. 

While  the  city  sleeps  preparations  must  go  on 
in  the  markets  for  breakfast,  and  in  printing  rooms 
for  that  equal  necessity  in  our  day,  the  latest  news. 
Therefore  all  night  long  there  are  dusky  figures 
flitting  hither  and  thither,  seeing  to  it  that  when 
we  come  down  in  gown  and  slippers,  our  steak  and 
the  world's  gossip  be  ready. 

The  breakfast  of  the  Gothamites  was  furnished 
abundantly  with  "  sauce  piquante  "  on  the  morn- 
ing of  the  last  day  of  February,  for  Hannibal  had 
shaken  his  head  ominously,  and  wiped  away  a  few 
honest  tears,  before  he  could  tremulously  say  to 
the  eager  reporter: 

"  Mr.  Allen—hah— just— died." 

Gathering  what  few  particulars  he  could,  and 
imagining  many  more,  the  reporter  was  driven 


AMONG   THE  BREAKERS.  JQI 

back  even  more  rapidly,  full  of  the  elation  of  a 
man  who  has  found  a  good  thing  and  means  to 
make  the  most  of  it.  Mr.  Allen  himself  was  noth- 
ing to  him,  but  news  about  him  was.  And  this  fact 
crowning  the  story  of  his  violation  of  the  revenue 
law  and  prospective  loss  of  a  million,  would  make 
a  brisk  breeze  in  the  paper  to  which  he  was  at- 
tached, and  might  waft  him  a  little  farther  on  as 
an  enterprising  news-gatherer. 

It  certainly  would  be  the  topic  of  the  day  on 
all  lips,  and  poor  Mr.  Allen  might  have  plumed 
himself  on  this  if  he  had  known  it,  for  few  people, 
unless  they  commit  a  crime,  are  of  sufficient  im- 
portance to  be  talked  of  all  day  in  large,  busy  New 
York.  In  the  world's  eyes  Mr.  Allen  had  commit- 
ted a  crime.  Not  that  they  regarded  his  stock 
gambling  as  such.  Multitudes  of  church  members 
in  good  and  regular  standing  were  openly  engaged 
in  this.  Nor  could  the  slight  and  unintentional 
violation  of  the  revenue  law  be  regarded  as  such, 
though  so  grave  in  its  consequences.  But  he  had 
faltered  and  died  when  he  should  not  have  given 
way.  What  the  world  demands  is  success:  and 
sometimes  a  devil  may  secure  this  where  a  true 
man  cannot.  The  world  regarded  Mr.  Van  Dam 
and  Mr.  Goulden  as  very  successful  men. 

Mr.  Fox  also  had  secured  success  by  one  adroit 
wriggle — we  can  describe  his  mode  of  achiev- 
ing greatness  by  no  better  phrase.  He  was  des- 
tined to  receive  half  a  million  for  his  treachery  to 
his  employers.  During  the  war,  when  United 


102  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DO  > 

States  securities  were  at  their  worst ;  when  men, 
pledged  to  take  them,  forfeited  money  rather  than 
do  so,  Mr.  Allen  had  lent  the  Government  millions, 
because  he  believed  in  it,  loved  it,  and  was  resolved 
to  sustain  it.  That  same  government  now  rewards 
him  by  putting  it  in  the  power  of  a  dishonest  clerk 
to  ruin  him,  and  gives  him  $500,000  for  doing  so. 
Thus  it  resulted;  for  we  are  compelled  to  pass 
hastily  over  the  events  subsequent  to  Mr.  Allen's 
death.  His  partners  made  a  good  fight,  showed 
that  there  was  no  intention  to  violate  the  law,  and 
that  it  was  often  difficult  to  comply  with  it  liter- 
ally— that  the  sum  claimed  to  be  lost  to  the  gov- 
ernment was  ridiculously  disproportionate  with  the 
amount  confiscated.  But  it  was  all  in  vain. 
There  was  the  letter  of  the  law,  and  there  were 
Mr.  Fox  and  his  associates  in  the  Custom-house, 
"  all  honorable  men,''  with  hands  itching  to  clutch 
the  plunder. 

But  before  this  question  was  settled,  the  fate  of 
the  stock  operation  in  Wall  street  was  most  effect- 
ually disposed  of.  As  soon  as  Mr.  Goulden  heard 
of  Mr.  Allen's  death,  he  sold  all  he  had  at  a  slight 
loss ;  but  his  action  awakened  suspicion,  and  it 
was  speedily  learned  that  the  rise  was  due  mainly 
to  Mr.  Allen's  strong  pushing,  and  the  inevitable 
results  followed.  As  poor  Mr.  Allen's  remains 
were  lowered  into  the  vault,  his  stock  in  Wall 
street  was  also  going  down  with  a  run. 

In  brief,  in  the  absence  of  the  master's  hand,  and 
by  reason  of  his  embarrassments,  there  was  general 


AMONG   THE  BREAKERS.  103 

wreck  and  ruin  in  his  affairs;  and  Mrs.  Allen  was 
soon  compelled  to  face  the  fact,  even  more  awful 
to  her,  than  her  husband's  death,  that  not  a  penny 
remained  of  his  colossal  fortune,  and  that  she  had 
yawningly  signed  away  all  of  her  own  means.  But 
she  could  only  wring  her  hands  in  view  of  these 
blighting  truths,  and  indulge  in  half  uttered  com- 
plaints against  her  husband's  "  folly,"  as  she  termed 
it.  From  the  first  her  grief  had  been  more  emo- 
tional than  deep,  and  her  mind  recovering  some 
of  its  usual  poise,  had  begun  to  be  much  occupied 
with  preparations  for  a  grand  funeral,  which  was 
carried  out  to  her  taste.  Then  arose  deeply  in- 
teresting questions  as  to  various  styles  of  mourn- 
ing costume,  and  an  exciting  vista  of  dressmaking 
opened  before  her.  She  was  growing  into  quite  a 
serene  and  hopeful  frame  when  the  miserable  and 
blighting  facts  all  broke  upon  her.  When  there 
was  little  of  seeming  necessity  to  do,  and  multi- 
tudes to  do  for  her,  Mrs.  Allen's  nerves  permitted 
no  small  degree  of  activity.  But  now  as  it  became 
certain  that  she  and  her  daughters  must  do  all 
themselves,  her  hands  grew  helpless.  The  idea  of 
being  poor  was  to  her  like  dying.  It  was  entering 
on  an  experience  so  utterly  foreign  and  unknown 
that  it  seemed  like  going  to  another  world  and 
phase  of  existence,  and  she  shrank  in  pitiable 
dread  from  it. 

Laura  had  all  her  mother's  helpless  shrinking 
from  poverty,  but  with  another  and  even  bitterer 
ingredient  added.  Mr.  Goulden  was  extremely 


104 


WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DO  f 


polite,  exquisitely  sympathetic,  and  in  terms  as 
vague  as  elegantly  expressed,  had  offered  to  do 
anything  (but  nothing  in  particular)  in  his  power 
to  show  his  regard  for  the  family,  and  his  esteem 
for  his  departed  friend.  He  was  very  sorry  that 
business  would  compel  him  to  leave  town  for  some 
little  time- 
Laura  had  the  spirit  to  interrupt  him  saying, 
"  It  matters  little,  sir.  There  are  no  further  Wall 
street  operations  to  be  carried  on  here.  Invest 
your  time  and  friendship  where  it  will  pay." 

Mr.  Goulden,  who  plumed  himself  that  he  would 
slip  out  of  this  bad"  matrimonial  speculation  with 
such  polished  skill  that  he  would  leave  only  flatter- 
ing regret  and  sighs  behind,  under  the  biting  satire 
of  Laura's  words  suddenly  saw  what  a  contempt- 
ible creature  is  the  man  whom  selfish  policy,  rather 
than  honor  and  principle  governs.  He  had  brains 
enough  to  comprehend  himself  and  lose  his  self- 
respect  then  and  there,  as  he  went  away  tingling 
with  shame  from  the  girl  he  wronged,  but  who  had 
detected  his  sordid  meanness.  Sigh  after  him ! 
She  would  ever  despise  him,  and  that  hurt  Mr. 
Goulden's  vanity  severely.  He  had  come  very  near 
loving  Laura  Allen,  about  as  near  perhaps  as  he 
ever  would  loving  any  one,  and  it  had  cost  him  a 
little  more  to  give  her  up  than  to  choose  between 
a  good  and  a  bad  venture  on  the  street.  With 
compressed  lips  he  had  said  to  himself — "  No  gush- 
ing sentiment.  In  carrying  out  your  purpose  to  be 
rich  you  must  marry  rich."  Therefore  he  had  gone 


AMONG  THE  BREAKERS.  IQ$ 

to  make  what  he  meant  to  be  his  final  call,  feeling 
quite  heroic  in  his  steadfastness — his  loyalty  to 
puipose,  that  is  himself.  But  as  he  recalled  du- 
ring his  homeward  walk,  her  glad  welcome,  her 
wistful  pleading  looks,  and  then,  as  she  realized  the 
truth,  her  pain,  contempt,  and  her  meaning  wordg 
of  scorn,  his  miserable  egotism  was  swept  aside, 
and  for  the  first  time  the  selfish  man  saw  the  ques- 
tion from  her  standpoint,  and  as  we  have  said  he 
was  not  so  shallow  but  that  he  saw  and  loathed 
himself.  He  lost  his  self-respect  as  he  never  had 
before,  and  therefore  to  a  certain  extent,  his  power 
ever  to  be  happy  again. 

Small  men,  full  of  petty  conceit,  can  recover 
from  any  wounds  upon  their  vanity,  but  proud  and 
large  minded  men  have  a  self-respect,  even  though 
based  upon  questionable  foundation.  It  is  essen- 
tial to  them,  and  losing  it,  they  are  inwardly 
wretched.  As  soldiers  carry  the  painful  scars  of 
some  wounds  through  life,  so  Mr.  Goulden  would 
find  that  Laura's  words  had  left  a  sore  place  while 
memory  lasted. 

Mr.  Van  Dam  quite  disarmed  Edith's  suspicions 
and  prejudices  by  being  more  friendly  and  intimate 
with  Zell  than,  ever,  and  the  latter  was  happy  and 
exultant  in  the  fact,  saying,  with  much  elation, 
that  her  friend  was  "  not  a  mercenary  wretch,  like 
Mr.  Goulden,  but  remained  just  as  true  and  kind  as 
ever." 

It  was  evident  that  this  attention  and  show  of 
kindness  to  the  warm-hearted  girl,  made  a  deep 
5* 


!  06  WffA  T  CAN  SHE  DO  f 

impression  and  greatly  increased  Mr.  Van  Dam's 
power  over  her.  But  Edith's  suspicion  and  dislike 
began  to  return  as  she  saw  more  of  the  manner 
and  spirit  of  the  man.  She  instinctively  felt  that 
he  was  bad  and  designing. 

One  day  she  quite  incensed  Zell,  who  was 
chanting  his  praises,  by  saying: 

"  I  haven't  any  faith  in  him.  What  has  he 
done  to  show  real  friendship  for  us?  He  comes 
here  only  to  amuse  himself  with  you  ;  Gus  Elliot 
is  the  only  one  who  has  been  of  any  help." 

But  Edith  had  her  misgivings  about  Gus  also. 
Now,  in  her  trouble  and  poverty,  his  weakness 
began  to  reveal  itself  in  a  new  and  repulsive  light. 
In  fact,  that  exquisitely  fine  young  gentleman 
loved  Edith  well  enough  to  marry  her,  but  not  to 
work  for  her.  That  was  a  sacrifice  that  he  could 
not  make  for  any  woman.  Though  out  of  his 
natural  kindness  and  good-nature  he  felt  very 
sorry  for  her,  and  wanted  to  help  and  pet  her,  he 
had  been  shown  his  danger  so  clearly  that  he  was 
constrained  and  awkward  when  with  her,  for,  to 
tell  the  truth,  his  father  had  taken  him  aside  and 
said, — 

"  Look  here,  Gus.  See  to  it  that  you  don't 
entangle  yourself  with  Miss  Allen,  now  her  father 
has  failed.  She  couldn't  support  you  now,  and 
you  never  can  support  even  yourself.  If  you 
would  go  to  work  like  a  man — but  one  has  got  to 
be  a  man  to  do  that.  It  seems  true,  as  your 
mother  says,  that  you  are  of  too  fine  clay  for  com* 


AMONG  THE  BREAKERS.  107 

mon  uses.  Therefore,  don't  make  a  fool  of  your- 
self. You  can't  keep  up  your  style  on  a  pretty 
face,  and  you  must  not  wrong  the  girl  by  making 
her  think  you  can  take  care  of  her.  I  tell  you 
plainly,  I  can't  bear  another  ounce  added  to  my 
burden,  and  how  long  I'll  stand  up  under  it  as  it 
is,  I  can't  tell." 

Gus  listened  with  a  sulky,  injured  air.  He  felt 
that  his  father  never  appreciated  him  as  did  his 
mother  a-nd  sisters,  and  indeed  society  at  large. 
Society  to  Gus  was  the  ultra-fashionable  world  of 
which  he  was  one  of  the  shining  lights. 

The  ladies  of  the  family  quite  restored  his 
equanimity  by  saying, — 

"  Now  see  here,  Gus,  don't  dream  of  throwing 
yourself  away  on  Edith  Allen.  You  can  marry 
any  girl  you  please  in  the  city.  So,  for  heaven's 
sake  (though  what  heaven  had  to  do  with  their 
advice  it  is  hard  to  say),  don't  let  her  lead  you  on 
to  say  what  you  would  wish  unsaid.  Remember 
they  are  no  more  now  than  any  other  poor  people, 
except  that  they  are  refined,  etc.,  but  this  will  only 
make  poverty  harder  for  them.  Of  course  we  are 
sorry  for  them,  but  in  this  world  people  have  got 
to  take  care  of  themselves.  So  we  must  be  on  the 
lookout  for  some  one  who  has  money  which  can't 
be  sunk  in  a  stock  operation  as  if  thrown  into  the 
sea." 

After  all  this  sound  reason,  poor,  weak  Gus, 
vaguely  conscious  of  his  helplessness,  as  stated  by 
his  father,  and  quite  believing  his  mother's  assur- 


108  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOt 

ance  that J<  he  could  marry  any  girl  he  pleased, '  wf*9 
in  no  mood  to  urge  the  penniless  Edith  to  give  him 
her  empty  hand,  while  before  the  party,  when  he 
believed  it  full,  he  was  doing  his  best  to  bring  her 
to  this  point,  though  in  fact,  she  gave  him  little 
opportunity. 

Edith  detected  the  change,  and  before  very 
long,  surmised  the  cause.  It  made  the  young  girl 
curl  her  lip,  and  say,  in  a  tone  of  scorn  that  would 
have  done  Gus  good  to  hear, — 

"  The  idea  of  a  man  acting  in  this  style." 

But  she  did  not  care  enough  about  him  to  re- 
ceive a  wound  of  any  depth,  and  with  a  good- 
natured  tolerance,  recognized  his  weakness,  and 
his  genuine  liking  for  her,  and  determined  to  make 
him  useful. 

Edith  was  very  practical,  and  possessed  of  a 
brave,  resolute  nature.  She  was  capable  of  strong 
feelings,  but  Gus  Elliot  was  not  the  man  to  awaken 
such  in  any  woman.  She  liked  his  company,  and 
proposed  to  use  him  in  certain  ways.  Under  her 
easy  manner,  Gus  also  became  at  ease,  and  finding 
that  he  was  not  expected  to  propose  and  be  senti- 
mental, was  all  the  more  inclined  to  be  friendly. 

"  I  want  you  to  find  me  books,  and  papers  also, 
if  there  are  any,  that  tell  how  to  raise  fruit,5'  she 
said  to  him  one  day. 

"  What  a  funny  request !  I  would  as  soon  ex- 
pect you  would  ask  for  instruction  how  to  drive 
four-in-hand.'5 

"Nothing  of  that  style,  henceforth.     I  must 


AMONG  THE  BREAKERS.  log 

learn  something  useful  now,  Only  the  rich  can 
afford  to  be  good-for-nothing.,  and  we  are  not  rich 
now." 

"  For  which  I  am  very  sorry,"  said  Gus,  with 
some  feeling. 

"  Thank  you.  Such  disinterested  sympathy  is 
beautiful,"  said  Edith  dryly. 

Gus  looked  a  little  red  and  awkward,  but  has- 
tened to  say,  "  I  will  hunt  up  what  you  wish,  and 
bring  it  as  soon  as  possible." 

"  You  are  very  good.  That  is  all  at  present  " 
said  Edith,  in  a  tone  that  made  Gus  feel  that  It 
was  indeed  all  that  it  was  in  his  power  to  do  for 
her  at  that  time,  and  he  went  away  with  a  dim 
perception  that  he  was  scarcely  more  than  her 
errand  boy.  It  made  him  very  uncomfortable. 
Though  he  wished  her  to  understand  he  could  not 
marry  her  now,  he  wished  her  to  sigh  a  little  after 
him.  Gus'  vanity  rather  resented  that,  instead  of 
pining  for  him,  she  should  set  him  to  work  with  a 
little  quiet  satire.  He  had  never  read  a  romance 
that  ended  so  queerly.  He  had  expected  that 
they  might  have  a  little  tender  scene  over  the  in- 
exorable fate  that  parted  them,  give  and  take  a 
memento,  gasp,  appeal  to  the  moon,  and  see  each 
other's  faces  no  more,  she  going  to  the  work  and 
poverty  that  he  could  never  stoop  to  from  the  in- 
nate refinement  and  elegance  of  his  being,  and  he 
to  hunt  up  the  heiress  to  whom  he  would  give  the 
honor  of  maintaining  him  in  his  true  sphere. 

But  his  little  melodrama  was  entirely  spoiled 


HO  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DO* 

by  her  matter-of-fact  way,  and  what  was  worse  still 
he  felt  in  her  presence  as  if  he  did  not  amount  to 
much,  and  that  she  knew  it ;  and  yet,  like  the 
poor  moth  that  singes  its  wings  around  the  lamp, 
he  could  not  keep  away. 

The  prominent  trait  of  Gus'  character,  as  of  so 
many  others  in  our  luxurious  age  of  self-pleasing, 
was  weakness ;  and  yet  one  must  be  insane  with 
vanity  to  be  at  ease,  if  he  can  do  nothing  reso- 
lutely, and  dare  nothing  great.  He  is  a  cripple, 
and  if  not  a  fool,  knows  it. 

During  the  eventful  month  that  followed  Mr. 
Allen's  death,  Mrs.  Allen  and  her  daughters  led, 
what  seemed  to  them,  a  very  strange  life.  While 
in  one  sense  it  was  real  and  intensely  painful,  in 
another  the  experiences  were  so  new  and  strange, 
it  all  seemed  an  unreal  dream,  a  distressing  night- 
mare of  trouble  and  danger,  from  which  they  might 
awaken  to  their  old  life. 

Mrs.  Allen,  from  her  large  circle  of  acquaintances, 
had  numerous  callers,  many  coming  from  mere 
morbid  curiosity,  more  from  mingled  motives,  and 
not  a  few  from  genuine  tearful  sympathy.  To 
these  "  her  friends,"  as  she  emphatically  called 
them,  she  found  a  melancholy  pleasure  in  recount- 
ing all  the  recent  woes,  in  which  she  ever  appeared 
as  chief  sufferer,  and  chief  mourner,  though  her 
husband  seemed  among  the  minor  losses,  and  thus 
most  of  her  time  was  spent  during  the  last  few 
weeks  at  her  old  home.  Her  friends  appeared  to 
find  a  melancholy  pleasure  in  listening  to  these  de- 


AMONG  THE  BREAKERS,  m 

tails  and  then  in  recounting  them  again  to  ct'r.er 
"friends'  with  a  running  commentary  of  their  own, 
until  that  little  fraction  of  the  feminine  world  ac- 
quainted with  the  Aliens,  had  sighed,  surmised, 
and  perhaps  gossiped  over  the  "  afflicted  family** 
so  exhaustively  that  it  was  really  time  for  some- 
thing new.  The  men  and  the  papers  down  town 
also  had  their  say,  and  perhaps  all  tried  as  far  as 
human  nature  would  permit,  to  say  nothing  but 
good  of  the  dead  and  unfortunate. 

Laura,  after  the  stinging  pain  of  each  successive 
blow  to  her  happiness,  sank  into  a  dreary  apathy, 
and  did  mechanically  the  few  things  Edith  asked 
of  her. 

Zell  lived  in  varied  moods  and  conditions,  now 
weeping  bitterly  for  her  father,  again  resenting  with 
impotent  passion  the  change  -in  their  fortunes,  but 
ending  usually  by  comforting  herself  with  the 
thought  that  Mr.  Van  Dam  was  true  to  her.  He 
was  as  true  and  faithful  as  an  insidious,  incurable 
disease  when  once  infused  into  the  system.  His 
infernal  policy  now  was  to  gradually  alienate  her 
interest  from  her  family  and  centre  it  in  him. 
Though  promising  nothing  in  an  open,  manly  way, 
he  adroitly  made  her  believe  that  only  throvgh 
him  could  she  now  hope  to  reach  brighter  days 
again,  and  to  Zell  he  seemed  the  one  means  of  es- 
cape from  a  detested  life  of  poverty  and  privation. 
She  became  more  infatuated  with  him  than  ever, 
and  cherished  a  secret  resentment  against  Edith 
because  of  her  distrust  and  dislike  of  him. 


1 1 2  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DO  t 

The  Aliens  had  but  few  near  relatives  in  the 
city  at  this  time,  and  with  these  they  were  not  on 
very  good  terms,  nor  were  they  the  people  to  be 
helpful  in  adversity.  Mr.  Allen's  partners  were  men 
of  the  world  like  himself,  and  they  were  also  in- 
censed  that  he  should  have  been  carrying  on  pri- 
vate speculations  in  Wall  street  to  the  extent  of 
risking  all  his  capital.  His  fatal  stock  operation, 
together  with  the  government  confiscation,  had  in- 
volved them  also  in  ruin ;  and  they  had  enough  to 
do  to  look  after  themselves.  They  were  far  more 
eager  to  secure  something  out  of  the  general  wreck 
than  to  see  that  anything  remained  for  the  family. 
The  Aliens  were  left  very  much  to  themselves  in 
their  struggle  with  disaster,  securing  help  and 
advice  chiefly  as  they  paid  for  it. 

Mr.  Allen  was  accustomed  to  say  that  women 
were  incapable  of  business,  and  yet  here  are  the 
ladies  of  his  own  household  compelled  to  grapple 
with  the  most  perplexing  forms  of  business  or 
suffer  aggravated  losses.  Though  all  of  his  family 
were  of  mature  years,  and  thousands  had  been 
spent  on  their  education,  they  were  as  helpless  as 
four  children  in  dealing  with  the  practical  questions 
that  daily  came  to  them  for  decision.  At  first  all 
matters  were  naturally  referred  to  the  widow,  but 
she  would  only  wring  her  hands  and  say, — 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  these  horrid 
things.  Can't  I  be  left  alone  with  my  sorrow  in 
peace  a  few  days  ?  Go  to  Edith." 

And  to  Edith  at  last  all  came  till  the  poor  girl 


AMONG  THE  BREAKERS.  nj 

was  almost  distracted.  It  was  of  no  use  to  go  to 
Laura  for  advice,  for  she  would  only  say  in  dreary 
apathy, — 

"  Just  as  you  think  best.     Anything  you  say.** 
She  was  indulging  in  unrestrained  wretchedness 
to  the  utmost.     Luxurious  despair  is  so  much  easi- 
er than  painful  perplexing  action. 

Zell  was  still  "  the  child  "  and  entirely  occupied 
with  Mr.  Van  Dam.  So  Edith  had  to  bear  the 
brunt  of  everything.  She  did  not  do  this  in  un- 
complaining sweetness,  like  an  angel,  but  scolded 
the  others  soundly  for  leaving  all  to  her.  They 
whined  back  that  they  "  couldn't  do  anything,  and 
cV-dn't  know  how  to  do  anything.'' 

"  You  know  as  much  as  I  do,''  retorted  Edith 
And  this  was  true.     Had  not   Edith  possessed 
a  practical  resolute  nature,  that  preferred  any  kind 
of  action  to  apathetic  inaction  and  futile  grieving, 
she  would  have  been  as  helpless  as  the  rest. 

Do  you  say  then  that  it  was  a  mere  matter  of 
chance  that  Edith  should  be  superior  to  the  others, 
and  that  she  deserved  no  credit,  and  they  no 
blame  ?  Why  should  such  all  important  condi- 
tions of  character  be  the  mere  result  of  chance  and 
circumstance?  Would  not  Christian  education  and 
principle  have  vastly  improved  the  Edith  that  ex- 
isted ?  Would  they  not  have  made  the  others 
helpful,  self-forgetting,  and  sympathetic  ?  Why 
should  the  world  be  full  of  people  so  deformed,  or 
morally  feeble,  or  so  ignorant,  as  to  be  helpless? 
Why  should  the  naturally  strong  work  with  only 


1 14  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DOt 

contempt  and  condemnation  for  the  weak  ?  While 
many  say,  "  stand  aside,  I  am  holier  than  thou,*5 
perhaps  more  say,  "  stand  aside,  I  am  wiser — 
stronger  than  thou,"  and  the  weak  are  made  more 
hopelessly  discouraged.  This  helplessness  on  one 
hand,  and  arrogant  fault-finding  strength  on  the 
other,  are  not  the  result  of  chance,  but  of  an 
imperfect  education.  They  come  from  the  neg- 
lect and  wrong-doing  of  those  whose  province  it 
was  to  train  and  educate. 

If  we  find  among  a  family  of  children  reaching 
maturity,  one  helpless  from  deformity,  and  another 
from  feebleness,  and  are  told  that  the  parents,  by 
employing  surgical  skill,  might  have  removed  the 
deformity,  and  overcome  the  weakness  by  tonic 
treatment,  but  had  neglected  to  do  so,  we  would 
not  have  much  to  say  about  chance.  I  know  of  a 
poor  man  who  spent  nearly  all  that  he  had  in  the 
world,  to  have  his  boy's  leg  straightened,  and  he 
was  called  a  "  good  father."  What  are  these  phys- 
ical defects  compared  with  the  graver  defects  of 
character  ? 

Even  though  Mr.  Allen  is  dead,  we  cannot  say 
that  he  was  a  good  father,  though  he  spent  so 
many  thousands  on  his  daughters.  We  certainly 
cannot  call  Mrs.  Allen  a  good  mother,  and  the 
proof  of  this  is  that  Laura  is  feeble  and  selfish,  Zell 
deformed  through  lack  of  self-control,  and  Edith 
hard  and  pitiless  in  her  comparative  strength. 
They  were  unable  to  cope  with  the  practical  ques* 
tions  of  their  situation.  They  had  been  launched 


AMONG  THE  BREAKERS.  115 

upon  the  perilous  uncertain  voyage  oflife,  without 
the  compass  of  a  true  faith,  or  the  charts  of  princi- 
ple to  guide  them,  and  in  case  of  disaster,  they 
had  been  provided  with  no  life-boats  of  knowledge 
to  save  them.  They  are  now  tossing  among  the 
breakers  of  misfortune,  almost  utterly  the  sport  of 
the  winds  and  waves  of  circumstances.  If  these 
girls  never  reached  the  shore  of  happiness  and 
safety,  could  we  wonder? 

How  would  your  daughter  fare,  my  reader,  if 
you  were  gone  and  she  were  poor,  with  her  hands 
and  brain  to  depend  on  for  bread,  and  her  heart 
culture  for  happiness  ?  In  spite  of  all  your  provi- 
dence and  foresight,  such  may  be  her  situation. 
Such  becomes  the  condition  of  many  men's  daugh- 
ters every  day. 

But  time  and  events  swept  the  Aliens  forward, 
as  the  shipwrecked  are  borne  on  the  crest  of  a 
wave,  and  we  must  follow  their  fortunes.  Hungry 
creditors,  especially  the  petty  ones  up  town,  strip- 
ped them  of  everything  they  could  lay  their  hands 
on,  and  they  were  soon  compelled  to  leave  their 
Fifth  Avenue  mansion.  The  little  place  in  the 
country,  given  to  Edith  partly  in  jest  by  her  father 
as  a  birthday  present,  was  now  their  only  refuge, 
and  to  this  they  prepared  to  go  the  first  of  April. 
Edith,  as  usual,  took  the  lead,  and  was  to  go  in 
advance  of  the  others  with  such  furniture  as  they 
had  been  able  to  keep,  and  prepare  for  their  com- 
ng.  Old  Hannibal,  who  had  grown  grey  in  the 
service  of  the  family,  and  now  declined  to  leave  it, 


1 16  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DC  f 

was  to  accompany  her.  On  a  dark,  lowering  day, 
symbolic  of  their  fortunes,  some  loaded  drays  took 
down  to  the  boat  that  with  which  they  would 
commence  the  meagre  housekeeping  of  their  pov- 
erty. Edith  went  slowly  down  the  broad  steps 
leading  from  her  elegant  home,  and  before  she 
entered  the  carriage  turned  for  one  lingering,  tear- 
ful look,  such  as  Eve  may  have  bent  upon  the  gate 
of  Paradise  closing  behind  her,  then  sprang  into 
the  carriage,  drew  the  curtains,  and  sobbed  all  the 
way  to  the  boat.  Scarcely  once  before,  during 
that  long,  hard  month,  had  she  so  given  way  to  her 
feelings.  But  she  was  alone  now  and  none  could 
see  her  tears  and  call  her  weak.  Hannibal  took 
his  seat  on  the  box  with  the  driver,  and  looked 
and  felt  very  much  as  he  did  when  following  hit 
master  to  Greenwood. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

WARPED. 

TT  is  the  early  breakfast  hour  at  a  small  fiame 
house,  situated  about  a  mile  from  the  staid  but 
thriving  village  of  Pushton.  But  the  indications 
around  the  house  do  not  indicate  thrift.  Quite 
the  reverse.  As  the  neighbors  expressed  it,  "  there 
was  a  screw  loose  with  Lacey/'  the  owner  of  this 
place.  It  was  going  down  hill  like  its  master.  A 
general  air  of  neglect  and  growing  dilapidation  im- 
pressed the  most  casual  observer.  The  front  gate 
hung  on  one  hinge  ;  boards  were  off  the  shackly 
barn,  and  the  house  had  grown  dingy  and  weather- 
stained  from  lack  of  paint.  But  as  you  entered 
and  passed  from  the  province  of  the  master  to  that 
of  the  mistress,  a  new  element  was  apparent,  strug- 
gling with,  but  unable  to  overcome,  the  predomi- 
nant tendency  to  unthrift  and  seediness.  But 
everything  that  Mrs.  Lacey  controlled  was  as  neat 
and  cleanly  as  the  poor  overworked  woman  could 
keep  it. 

At  the  time  our  story  becomes  interested  in 
her  fortunes,  Mrs.  Lacey  was  a  middle-aged  woman, 
but  appeared  older  than  her  years  warranted,  from 
the  long-continued  strain  of  incessant  toil,  and 
from  that  which  wears  much  faster  still,  the  depres- 


1 1 8  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DO  f 

sion  of  an  unhappy,  ill-mated  life.  Her  face  wore 
the  pathetic  expression  of  confirmed  discourage- 
ment. She  reminded  you  of  soldiers  fighting  when 
they  know  it  is  of  no  use,  and  that  defeat  will  be 
the  only  result,  but  who  fight  on  mechanically,  in 
obedience  to  orders. 

She  is  now  placing  a  very  plain  but  wholesome 
and  well-prepared  breakfast  on  the  table,  and  it 
would  seem  that  both  the  eating  and  cooking  were 
carried  on  in  the  same  large  and  general  living 
room.  Her  daughter,  a  rosy-cheeked,  half-grown 
girl  of  fourteen,  was  assisting  her,  and  both  mother 
and  daughter  seemed  in  a  nervous  state  of  expect- 
ancy, as  if  hoping  and  fearing  the  result  of  a  near 
event.  A  moment's  glance  showed  that  this  event 
related  to  a  lad  of  about  seventeen,  who  was  walk- 
ing about  the  room,  vainly  trying  to  control  the 
agitation  which  is  natural  even  to  the  cool  and  ex- 
perienced when  feeling  that  they  are  at  one  of  the 
crisis  periods  of  life. 

It  could  not  be  expected  of  Arden  Lacey  at  his 
age  to  be  cool  and  experienced  while  light  curling 
hair,  blue  eyes,  and  a  mobile  sensitive  mouth,  ex- 
pressed anything  but  a  stolid  self  poise,  or  cheerful 
endurance.  Any  one  accustomed  to  observe  char- 
acter could  see  that  he  was  possessed  of  a  nervous 
fine-fibred  nature  capable  of  noble  achievement 
under  right  influences,  but  also  easily  warped  a/id 
susceptible  to  sad  injury  under  brutal  wrong.  He 
was  like  those  delicate  and  somewhat  complicated 
musical  instruments  that  produce  the  sweetest 


WARPED.  yi$ 

harmonies  when  in  tune  and  well  played  upon,  but 
the  most  jangling  discords  when  unstrung  and  in 
rough  ignorant  hands.  He  had  inherited  his  nervous 
temperament,  his  tendency  to  irritation  and  excess, 
from  the  diseased  over-stimulated  system  of  his 
father,  who  was  fast  becoming  a  confirmed  inebri- 
ate, and  who  had  been  poisoning  himself  with  bad 
liquors  all  his  life.  From  his  mother  he  obtained 
what  balance  he  had  in  temperament,  but  owed 
more  to  her  daily  influence  and  training.  It  was 
the  one  struggle  of  the  poor  woman's  life  to  shield  her 
children  from  the  evil  consequences  of  their  father's 
life.  For  her  son  she  had  special  anxiety,  knowing 
his  sensitive  high-strung  nature,  and  his  tendency 
to  go  headlong  into  evil  if  his  self-respect  and  con- 
trol were  once  lost.  His  passionate  love  for  her 
had  been  the  boy's  best  trait,  and  through  this  she 
had  controlled  him  thus  far.  But  she  had  thought 
that  it  might  be  best  for  him  to  be  away  from  his 
father's  presence  and  influence  if  she  could  only 
find  something  that  accorded  with  his  bent.  And 
this  eventually  proved  to  be  a  college  education. 
The  boy  was  of  a  quick  and  studious  mind.  From 
earliest  years  he  had  been  fond  of  books,  and  as 
time  advanced,  the  passion  for  study  and  reading 
grew  upon  him.  He  had  a  strong  imagination, 
and  his  favorite  styles  of  reading  were  such  as 
appealed  to  this.  In  the  scenes  of  history  and 
romance  he  escaped  from  the  sordid  life  of  toil  and 
shame  to  which  his  father  condemned  him,  into  a 
large  realm  that  seemed  rich  and  glorified  in  con- 


170  WHIT  CAN  SHE  DOt 

trast.  When  he  was  but  fourteen  the  thought  of 
a  liberal  education  fired  his  ambition  and  became 
the  dream  of  his  life.  He  made  the  very  most  of 
the  district  school  to  which  he  was  sent  in  winter. 
The  teacher  happened  to  be  a  well  educated  man, 
and  took  pride  in  his  apt,  eager  scholar.  Between 
the  boy's  and  the  mother's  savings  they  had  ob- 
tained enough  to  secure  private  lessons  in  Latin 
and  Greek,  and  now  at  the  age  of  seventeen,  he 
was  tolerably  well  prepared  for  college. 

But  the  father  had  no  sympathy  at  all  with 
these  tastes,  and  from  the  incessant  labor  he  re- 
quired of  his  son,  and  the  constant  interruptions 
he  occasioned  in  his  studies  even  in  winter,  he  had 
been  a  perpetual  bar  to  all  progress. 

On  the  day  previous  to  the  scene  described  in 
the  opening  of  this  chapter,  the  winter  term  had 
closed,  and  Mr.  Rule,  the  teacher,  had  declared  that 
Arden  could  enter  college,  and  with  natural  pride 
in  his  own  work  as  instructor,  intimated  that  he 
would  lead  his  class  if  he  did. 

Both  mother  and  son  were  so  elated  at  this 
that  they  determined  at  once  to  state  the  fact  to 
the  father,  thinking  that  if  he  had  any  of  the  natu- 
ral feelings  of  a  parent,  he  would  take  some  pride 
in  his  boy,  and  be  willing  to  help  him  obtain  the 
education  he  longed  for. 

But  there  is  little  to  be  hoped  from  a  man  who 
Is  completely  under  the  influence  of  ignorance 
and  rum.  Mr.  Lacey  was  the  son  of  a  small  farmer 
lik-i  himself,  and  never  had  anything  to  recommend 


WARPED  li\ 

him  but  his  fine  looks,  which  had  captivated  poor 
Mrs.  Lacey  to  her  cost.  Unlike  the  majority  of  his 
class,  who  are  fast  becoming  a  very  intelligent  part 
of  the  community,  and  are  glad  to  educate  their 
children,  he  boasted  that  he  liked  the  "old  ways," 
and  by  these  he  meant  the  worst  ways  of  his  father's 
day,  when  books  and  schools  were  scarce,  and  few 
newspapers  found  their  way  to  rural  homes.  He 
was,  like  his  father  before  him,  a  graduate  of  the 
village  tavern,  and  had  imbibed  bad  liquor  and  his 
ideas  of  life  at  the  same  time  from  that  objection- 
able source.  With  the  narrow-mindedness  of  his 
class,  he  had  a  prejudice  against  all  learning 
that  went  beyond  the  three  R's,  and  had  watched 
with  growing  disapprobation  his  son's  taste  for 
books,  believing  that  it  would  spoil  him  as  a  farm 
hand,  and  make  him  an  idle  dreamer.  He  was  less 
and  less  inclined  to  work  himself  as  his  frame  be- 
came diseased  and  enfeebled  from  intemperance,  and 
he  determined  now  to  get  as  much  work  as  possi- 
ble out  of  that  "  great  hulk  of  a  boy,"  as  he  called 
Arden.  He  had  picked  up  some  hints  of  the  col- 
lege hopes,  and  the  very  thought  angered  him. 
He  determined  that  when  the  boy  broached  the  sub- 
ject he  would  give  him  such  a  "jawing  ''  (to  use  his 
own  vernacular)  "  as  would  put  an  end  to  that  non- 
sense." Therefore  both  Arden  and  his  mother, 
who  were  waiting  as  we  have  described  in  such  per- 
turbed anxious  state  for  his  entrance,  were  doomed 
to  bitter  disappointment.  At  last  a  heavy  red-faced 
man  entered  the  kitchen,  stalking  in  on  the  white 
6 


122  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOt 

floor  out  of  the  drizzling  rain  with  his  muddy  boots 
leaving  tracks  and  blotches  in  keeping  with  his 
character.  But  he  had  the  grace  to  wash  his  grimy 
hands  before  sitting  down  to  the  table.  He  was 
always  in  a  bad  humor  in  the  morning,  and  the 
chilly  rain  had  not  improved  it.  A  glance  around 
showed  him  that  something  was  on  hand,  and  he 
surmised  that  it  was  the  college  business.  He  at 
once  thought  within  himself, 

"  I'll  squelch  the  thing  now,  once  for  all." 

Turning  to  his  son,  he  said,  "  Look  here,  young- 
ster, why  haint  you  been  out  doing  your  chores  ? 
D'ye  expect  me  to  do  your  work  and  mine  too  ?" 

"  Father,"  said  the  impulsive  boy  with  a  voice 
of  trembling  eagerness,  "if  you  w;!l  let  me  go  to 
college  next  fall,  I'll  do  my  work  and  yours  too. 
I'll  work  night  and  day — '' 

"What  cussed  nonsense  is  this?"  demanded 
the  man  harshly,  clashing  down  his  knife  and  fork 
and  turning  frowningly  toward  his  son. 

"  No,  but  father,  listen  to  me  before  you  refuse. 
Mr.  Rule  says  I'm  fit  to  enter  college  and  that  I 
can  lead  my  class  too.  I've  been  studying  for  this 
three  years.  I've  set  my  heart  upon  it,"  and  in  hij 
earnestness,  tears  gathered  in  his  eyes. 

"  The  more  fool  you,  and  old  Rule  is  another,' 
was  the  coarse  answer. 

The  boy's  eyes  flashed  angrily,  but  the  mothei 
here  spoke. 

"You  ought  to  be  proud  of  your  son,  John  ;  if 
you  were  a  true  father  you  would  be.  If  you'd  en- 


WARPED.  I2j 

courage  and   help   him  now,  he'd   make   a  man 
that—" 

"Shut  up!  little  you  know  about  it.  Ile'd 
make  one  of  your  snivelling  white  fingered  loafers 
that's  too  proud  to  get  a  living  by  hard  work.  Per- 
haps you'd  like  to  make  a  parson  out  of  him.  Now 
look  here  old  woman,  and  you  too,  my  young  cock, 
I've  suspicioned  that  something  of  this  kind  was 
up,  but  I  tell  you  once  for  all  it  won't  go.  Just  as 
this  hulk  of  a  boy  is  gettin  of  some  use  to  me,  you 
want  to  spoil  him  by  sending  him  to  college.  I'll 
see  him  hanged  first,"  and  the  man  turned  to  his 
breakfast  as  if  he  had  settled  it.  But  he  was  start 
led  by  his  son's  exclaiming  passionately, — 

"  I  will  go." 

"  Look  a  here,  what  do  you  mean  ?  "  said  the 
father,  rising  with  a  black  ugly  look. 

"  I  mean  I've  set  my  heart  on  going  to  college 
and  I  will  go.  You  and  all  the  world  shan't  hinder 
me.  I  won't  stay  here  and  be  a  farm  drudge  all 
my  life." 

The  man's  face  was  livid  with  anger,  and  in  a 
low  hissing  tone  he  said, — 

"  I  guess  you  want  taking  down  a  peg,  my  col- 
lege  gentleman.  Perhaps  you  don't  know  I'm 
master  till  you're  twenty  one,"  and  he  reached  down 
a  large  leather  strap. 

"  You  strike  me  if  you  dare,"  shouted  the 
boy. 

"  If  I  dare !  haw  !  haw  !  If  I  don't  cut  the  cus- 
sed nonsense  out  of  yer  this  morning,  then  I  never 


124  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOt 

did,"  and  he  took  an  angry  stride  toward  his  son 
who  sprang  behind  the  stove. 

The  wife  and  mother  had  stood  by  growing 
whiter  and  whiter,  and  with  lips  pressed  closely  to- 
gether. At  this  critical  moment  she  stepped  be. 
fore  her  infuriated  husband  and  seized  his  arm, 
exclaiming, — 

"  John,  take  care.     You  have  reached  the  end." 

"  Stand  aside,"  snarled  the  man,  raising  the 
strap,  "  or  I'll  give  you  a  taste  of  it,  too." 

The  woman's  grasp  tightened  on  his  arm,  and 
in  a  voice  that  made  him  pause  and  look  fixedly  at 
her,  she  said, — 

"  If  you  strike  me  or  that  boy  I'll  take  my  chil- 
dren and  we  will  leave  your  roof  this  hateful  day 
never  to  return." 

"  Haint  I  to  be  master  in  my  own  house  ?  "  said 
the  husband  sullenly. 

"  You  are  not  to  be  a  brute  in  your  own  house. 
I  know  you've  struck  me  before,  but  I  endured  it 
and  said  nothing  about  it  because  you  were  drunk, 
but  you  are  not  drunk  now,  and  if  you  lay  a  finger 
on  me  or  my  son  to-day,  I  will  never  darken  your 
doors  again." 

The  unnatural  father  saw  that  he  had  gone  too 
far.  He  had  not  expected  such  an  issue.  He  had 
long  been  accustomed  to  follow  the  lead  of  his 
brutal  passions,  but  had  now  reached  a  point 
where  he  felt  he  must  stop,  as  his  wife  said.  Turn- 
ing on  his  heel,  he  sullenly  took  his  place  at  the 
table  mattering, — 


WARPED.  I2J 

"  It  «  a  pretty  pass  when  there  s  mutiny  in  a 
man's  o\vn  house."  Then  to  his  son,  "You  won't 
get  a  d — n  cent  out  of  me  for  your  college  busi- 
ness, mind  that." 

Rose,  the  daughter,  who  had  been  crying  and 
wringing  her  hands  on  the  door-step,  now  came 
timidly  in,  and  at  a  sign  from  her  mother,  she  and 
her  brother  went  into  another  room. 

The  man  ate  for  a  while  in  dogged  silence,  but 
at  last  in  a  tone  that  was  meant  to  be  somewhat 
conciliatory,  said, — 

"  What  the  devil  did  you  mean  by  putting  the 
boy  up  to  such  foolishness?" 

"  Hush  !  "  said  his  wife  imperiously,  "  I'm  in  no 
mood  to  talk  with  you  now." 

"  Oh,  ah,  indeed,  a  man  can't  tven  speak  in  his 
own  house,  eh  ?  I  guess  I'll  take  myself  off  to 
where  I  can  have  a  little  more  liberty,"  and  he 
went  out,  harnessed  his  old  white  horse,  and  start- 
ed for  his  favorite  groggery  in  the  village. 

His  father  had  no  sooner  gone  than  Arden 
came  out  and  said  passionately, — 

"  It's  no  use,  mother,  I  can't  stand  it ;  I  must 
leave  home  to-day ;  I  guess  I  can  make  a  living, 
at  any  rate  I'd  rather  starve  than  pass  through 
such  scenes." 

The  poor,  overwrought  woman  threw  herself 
down  in  a  low  chair  and  sobbed,  rocking  herself 
back  and  forth. 

"  Wait  till  I  die,  Arden,  wait  till  I  die,  I  feel  it 
won't  be  long.  What  have  I  to  live  for  but  you 


126  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DO? 

and  Rosy  ?  And  if  you,  my  pride,  and  joy,  go  away 
after  what  has  happened,  it  will  be  worse  than 
death,"  and  a  tempest  of  grief  shook  her  gaunt 
frame. 

Arden  was  deeply  moved.  Boylike  he  had 
been  thinking  only  of  himself,  but  now  as  never 
before  he  realized  her  hard  lot,  and  in  his  warm 
impulsive  heart  there  came  a  yearning  tenderness 
for  her  such  as  he  had  never  felt  before.  He  took 
her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  and  comforted  her,  till 
even  her  sore  heart  felt  the  healing  balm  of  love 
and  ceased  its  bitter  aching.  At  last  she  dried  her 
eyes  with  a  faint  smile,  and  said, — 

"  With  such  a  boy  to  pet  me,  the  world  isn't 
all  flint  and  thorns  yet." 

And  Rosy  came  and  kissed  her  too,  for  she  was 
an  affectionate  child,  though  a  little  inclined  to  be 
giddy  and  vain. 

"  Don't  worry,  mother,"  said  Arden.  "  I  will 
stay  and  take  such  good  care  of  you,  that  you  will 
have  many  years  yet,  and  happier  ones,  too,  I 
hope,"  and  he  resolved  to  keep  this  promise,  cost 
what  it  might. 

"  I  hardly  think  I  ought  to  ask  it  of  you,  though 
even  the  thought  of  your  going  away  breaks  my 
heart." 

"  I  will  stay,"  said  the  boy,  almost  as  passion- 
ately as  he  had  said,  "  I  will  go."  "  I  now  see 
how  much  you  need  a  protector." 

That  night  the  father  came  home  so  stupidly 
drunk  that  they  had  to  half  carry  him  to  bed 


WARPED. 


12? 


where  he  slept  heavily  till  morning,  and  rose  con- 
siderably shaken  and  depressed  from  his  debauch. 
The  breakfast  was  as  silent  as  it  had  been  stormy 
on  the  previous  day.  After  it  was  over,  Arden  fol- 
lowed his  father  to  the  door  and  said, — 

"  I  was  a  boy  yesterday  morning,  but  you  made 
me  a  man,  and  a  rather  ugly  one  too.  I  learned 
then  for  the  first  time,  that  you  occasionally  strike 
my  mother.  Don't  you  ever  do  it  again,  or  it  will 
be  worse  for  you,  drunk  or  sober.  I  am  not  going 
to  college,  but  will  stay  home  and  take  care  of  her. 
Do  we'understand  each  other?'' 

The  man  was  in  such  a  low  shattered  condition 
that  his  son's  bearing  cowed  him,  and  he  walked 
off  muttering, — 

"  Young  cocks  crow  mighty  loud,''  but  from 
that  time  forward  he  never  offered  violence  to  his 
wife  or  children. 

Still  his  father's  conduct  and  character  had  a 
most  disastrous  effect  upon  the  young  man.  He 
was  soured,  because  disappointed  in  his  most  cher- 
ished purpose,  at  an  age  when  most  youths  scarce- 
ly have  definite  plans.  Many  have  a  strong  natu- 
ral bent,  and  if  turned  aside  from  this,  they  are 
more  or  less  unhappy,  and  their  duties  instead  of 
being  wings  to  help  life  forward,  become  a  galling 
yoke. 

This  was  the  case  of  Arden.  Farm  work,  as  he 
had  learned  it  from  his  father,  was  coarse,  heavy 
drudgery,  with  small  and  uncertain  returns,  and 
these  were  largely  spent  at  the  village  rum  shopf 


I2g  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOt 

in  purchasing  slow  perdition  for  the  husband,  and 
misery  and  shame  for  his  wife  and  children. 

In  respectable  Pushton,  a  drunkard's  family,  es- 
pecially if  poor,  had  a  very  low  social  status.  Mrs. 
Lacey  and  her  children  would  not  accept  of  bad  as- 
sociations, so  they  had  scarcely  any.  This  ostra- 
cism, within  certain  limits  is  perhaps  right.  The 
preventive  penalties  of  vice  can  scarcely  be  too  great, 
and  men  and  women  must  be  made  to  feel  that 
wrong  doing  is  certain  to  be  followed  by  terrible 
consequences.  The  fire  is  merciful  in  that  it  always 
burns,  and  sin  and  suffering  are  inseparably  linked. 
But  the  consequences  of  one  person's  sin  so  often 
blight  the  innocent.  The  necessity  of  this  from 
our  various  ties,  should  be  a  motive,  a  hostage 
against  sinning,  and  doubtless  restrains  many  a  one 
who  would  go  headlong  under  evil  impulses.  But 
multitudes  do  slip  off  the  paths  of  virtue,  and  help- 
less wives,  and  often  helpless  husbands  and  children, 
writhe  from  wounds  made  by  those  under  sacred 
obligations  to  shield  them.  Upon  the  families  of 
criminals,  society  visits  a  mildew  of  coldness  and 
scorn  that  blights  nearly  all  chance  of  good  fruit 
But  society  is  very  unjust  in  its  discriminations, 
and  some  of  the  most  heinous  sins  in  God's  sight 
are  treated  as  mere  eccentricities,  or  condemned  in 
the  poor,  but  winked  at  in  the  rich.  Gentlemen 
will  admit  to  their  parlors,  men  about  whom  they 
know  facts,  which  if  true  of  a  woman,  would  close 
every  respectable  door  against  her,  and  God  frowns 
on  the  Christian  (?)  society  that  makes  such  arbi« 


WARPED.  129 

trary  and  unjust  distinctions.     Cast  both  out,  till 
they  bring  forth  fruits  meet  for  repentance. 

But  we  hope  for  little  of  a  reformative  tendency 
from  the  selfish  society  of  the  world.  Changing  hu- 
man fashion  rules  it,  rather  than  the  eternal  truth 
of  the  God  of  love  The  saddest  feature  of  all,  is 
that  the  shifting  code  of  fashion  is  coming  more 
and  more  to  govern  the  church.  Doctrine  may  re- 
main the  same,  profession  and  intellectual  belief 
the  same,  while  practical  action  drifts  far  astray. 
There  are  multitudes  of  wealthy  churches,  that 
will  no  more  admit  associations  with  that  class 
among  which  our  Lord  lived  and  worked,  than 
will  select  society.  They  seem  designed  to  help 
only  respectable,  well-connected  sinners,  toward 
heaven. 

This  tendency  has  two  phases.  In  the  cities 
the  poor  are  practically  excluded  from  worshipping 
with  the  rich,  and  missions  are  established  for  them 
as  if  they  were  heathen.  I  have  no  objection  to 
costly  magnificent  churches.  Nothing  is  too  good 
to  be  the  expression  of  our  honor  and  love  of  God. 
But  they  should  be  like  the  cathedrals  of  Europe, 
where  prince  and  peasant  may  bow  together  on  the 
same  level  they  have  in  the  Divine  presence.  Cli  rist 
made  no  distinction  between  the  rich  and  poor 
regarding  their  spiritual  value  and  need,  nor  should 
the  Christianity  named  after  him.  To  the  degree 
that-it  does,  it  is  not  Christianity.  The  meek  and 
lowly  Nazarene  is  not  its  inspiration.  Perhaps 
the  personage  he  told  to  get  behind  him  when 
6* 


130 


WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DO  t 


promising  the  "  kingdoms  of  the  world  and  the 
glory  of  them,"  has  more  to  do  with  it. 

The  second  phase  of  this  tendency  as  seen  in 
the  country,  is  kindred  but  unlike.  Poverty  may 
not  be  so  great  a  bar,  but  moral  delinquencies  are 
more  severely  visited,  and  the  family  under  a  cloud, 
through  the  wrong-doing  of  one  or  more  of  its 
members,  is  treated  very  much  as  if  they  had  a 
perpetual  pestilence.  The  highly  respectable  keep 
aloof.  Too  often  the  quiet  country  church  is  not  a 
sanctuary  and  place  of  refuge  for  those  wounded, 
either  by  their  own  or  another's  sin,  a  place  where 
the  grasp  of  sympathy  and  words  of  encourage- 
ment are  given ;  but  rather  a  place  where  they 
meet  the  cold  critical  gaze  of  those  who  are 
hedged  about  with  virtues  and  good  connections. 
I  hope  I  am  wrong,  but  how  is  it  where  you  live, 
my  reader?  If  a  well-to-do  thriving  man  of  integ- 
rity takes  a  fine  place  in  your  community,  we  all 
know  how  church  people  will  treat  him.  And 
what  they  do  is  all  right.  But  society — the  world, 
will  do  the  same.  Is  Christianity — are  the  followers 
of  the  "  Friend  of  publicans  and  sinners,"  to  do  no 
more? 

If  in  contrast  a  drunken  wretch  like  Lacey 
with  his  wife  and  children  come  in  town  on  top  of 
a  wagon-load  of  shattered  furniture,  and  all  are 
dumped  down  in  a  back  alley  to  scramble  into  the 
shelter  of  a  tenement  house  as  best  they  c.in,  do 
you  call  upon  them  ?  Do  you  invite  them  to  your 
pew  ?  Do  you  ever  urge  and  encourage  them  into 


WARPED  131 

your  church  and  make  even  one  of  its  corners  home- 
like and  inviting? 

I  hope  so ;  but  alas,  that  was  not  the  general 
custom  in  Pushton,  and  poor  Mrs.  Lacey  had  ac- 
quired the  habit  of  staying  at  home,  her  neighbors 
had  formed  the  habit  of  calling  her  husband  a 
"  dreadful  man,"  and  the  family  "  very  irreligious," 
and  as  the  years  passed  they  seemed  to  be  more 
and  more  left  to  themselves.  Mr.  Lacey  had 
brought  his  wife  from  a  distant  town  where  he  had 
met  and  married  her.  She  was  a  timid,  retiring 
woman,  and  time  and  kindness  were  needed  to 
draw  her  out.  But  no  one  had  seemingly  thought 
it  worth  while,  and  at  the  time  our  story  takes  an 
interest  in  their  affairs,  there  was  a  growing  isola- 
tion. 

All  this  had  a  very  bad  effect  upon  Arden.  As 
he  grew  out  of  the  democracy  of  boyhood  he  met 
a  certain  social  coldness  and  distance  which  he 
learned  to  understand  only  too  early,  and  soon  re- 
turned this  treatment  with  increased  coldness  and 
aversion.  Had  it  not  been  for  the  influence  of  his 
mother  and  the  books  he  read,  he  would  have  in- 
evitably  fallen  into  low  company.  But  he  had 
promised  his  mother  to  shun  it.  He  saw  its  result  in 
his  father's  conduct,  and  as  he  read,  and  his  mind 
matured,  the  narrow  coarseness  of  such  company 
became  repugnant.  From  time  to  time  he  was 
sorely  tempted  to  leave  home  which  his  father 
made  hateful  in  many  respects,  and  try  his  fortunes 
among  strangers  who  would  not  associate  him  \vith 


132  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DO f 

a  sot ;  but  his  love  for  his  mother  kept  him  at  her 
side,  for  he  saw  that  her  life  was  bound  up  in  him, 
and  that  he  alone  could  protect  her  and  his  sister 
and  keep  some  sort  of  a  shelter  for  them.  In  his 
unselfish  devotion  to  them  his  character  was  noble 
In  his  harsh  cynicism  toward  the  world  and  espe- 
cially the  church  people,  for  whom  he  made  no  al- 
lowance whatever — in  his  utter  hatred  and  detesta- 
tion of  hrs  father,  it  was  faulty,  though  allowance 
must  be  made  for  him.  He  was  also  peculiar  in 
other  respects,  for  his  unguided  reading  was  of  a 
nature  that  fed  his  imagination  at  the  expense  of 
his  reasoning  faculties.  Though  he  drudged  in  a 
narrow  round,  and  his  life  was  as  hard  and  real  as 
poverty  and  his  father's  intemperance  could  make 
it,  ne  mentally  lived  and  found  his  solace  in  a  world 
as  large  and  unreal  as  an  uncurbed  fancy  could  cre- 
ate. Therefore  his  work  was  hurried  through  me- 
chanically in  the  old  slovenly  methods  to  which  he 
had  been  educated,  he  caring  little  for  the  results, 
his  father  squandering  these  ;  and  when  the  neces- 
sary toil  was  over,  he  would  lose  all  sense  of  the 
sordid  present  in  the  pages  of  some  book  obtained 
from  the  village  library.  As  he  drove  his  milk  cart 
to  and  from  town  he  would  sit  in  the  chill  drizzling 
rain,  utterly  oblivious  of  discomfort,  with  a  half 
smile  upon  his  lips,  as  he  pictured  to  himself  some 
scene  of  sunny  aspect  or  gloomy  castellated  gran- 
deur of  which  his  own  imagination  was  the  archi- 
tect. The  famous  in  history,  the  heroes  and  hero- 
ines of  fiction,  and  especially  the  characters  of 


WARPED.  133 

Shakspeare  were  more  familiar  to  him  than  the 
people  among  whom  he  lived.  From  the  latter  he 
stood  more  and  more  aloof,  while  with  the  former 
he  held  constant  intercourse.  He  had  little  in 
common  even  with  his  sister,  who  was  of  a  very  dif- 
ferent temperament.  But  his  tenderness  toward 
his  mother  never  failed,  and  she  loved  him  with 
the  passionate  intensity  of  a  nature  to  which 
love  was  all,  but  which  had  found  little  to  satisfy  it 
on  earth,  and  was  ignorant  of  the  love  of  God. 

And  so  the  years  dragged  on  to  Arden,  and  his 
twenty-first  birthday  made  him  free  from  his  fath- 
er's control  as  he  practically  long  had  been,  but  it 
also  found  him  bound  more  strongly  than  ever  by 
his  mother's  love  and  need  to  his  old  home  life. 


CHAPTER  IX 

A  DESERT  ISLAND. 

*"PHE  good  cry  that  Edith  indulged  in  on  her 
way  to  the  boat  was  a  relief  to  her  heart  which 
had  long  been  overburdened.  But  the  necessity 
of  controlling  her  feelings,  and  the  natural  buoy- 
ancy of  youth  enabled  her  by  the  time  they  reach- 
ed the  wharf  to  see  that  the  furniture  and  baggage 
were  properly  taken  care  of.  No  one  could  detect 
the  traces  of  grief  through  her  thick  veil,  or  guess 
from  her  firm,  quiet  tones,  that  she  felt  somewhat 
as  Columbus  might  when  going  in  search  of  a  new 
world.  And  yet  Edith  had  a  hope  and  expecta- 
tion from  her  country  life  which  the  others  did 
not  share  at  all. 

When  she  was  quite  a  child  her  feeble  health 
induced  her  father  to  let  her  spend  an  entire  sum- 
mer  in  a  farm  house  of  the  better  class,  whose 
owner  had  seme  taste  for  flowers  and  fruit.  These 
she  had  enjoyed  and  luxuriated  in  as  much  as  any 
butterfly  of  the  season,  and  as  she  romped  with  the 
farmer's  children,  roamed  the  fields  and  woods 
after  berries,  arid  tumbled  in  the  fragrant  hay, 
health  came  tingling  back  with  a  fullness  and  vigot 
that  had  never  been  lost.  With  all  her  subsequent 
enjoyment,  that  summer  still  dwelt  in  her  memory 


A  DESEXT  ISLAND.  I3j 

as  the  halcyon  period  of  her  life,  and  it  was  with 
the  country  she  associated  it.  Every  year  she  had 
longed  for  July,  for  then  her  father  would  break 
away  from  business  for  a  couple  of  months  and 
take  them  to  a  place  of  resort.  But  the  fashion- 
able watering  places  were  not  at  all  to  her  taste  as 
compared  with  that  old  farm-house,  and  whenever 
it  was  possible  she  would  wander  off  and  make 
"  disreputable  acquaintances,"  as  Mrs.  Allen  term- 
ed them,  among  the  farmers  and  laborers'  families 
in  the  vicinity  of  the  hotel.  But  by  this  means 
she  often  obtained  a  basket  of  fruit  or  bunch  of 
flowers  that  the  others  were  glad  to  share  in. 

In  accordance  with  her  practical  nature  she 
asked  questions  as  to  the  habits,  growth  and  cul- 
ture of  trees  and  fruits,  r,o  that  few  city  girls  situ- 
ated as  she  had  been,  knew  as  much  about  the  pro- 
ducts of  the  garden.  She  had  also  haunted  con- 
servatories and  green-houses  as  much  as  her  sisters 
had  the  costly  Broadway  temples  of  fashion,  where 
counters  are  the  altars  to  which  the  women  of  the 
city  bring  their  daily  offerings ;  and  as  we  have 
seen,  a  fruit  store  was  a  place  of  delight  to  her. 

The  thought  that  she  could  now  raise  fruit, 
flowers,  and  vegetables  on  her  own  place  without 
limit,  was  some  compensation  even  for  the  trouble 
they  had  passed  through  and  the  change  in  their 
fortunes. 

Moreover  she  knew  that  because  of  their  pov- 
erty she  would  have  to  secure  from  her  ground 
substantial  returns,  and  that  her  garJcnip^  wv»s* 


136  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DO t 

be  no  amateur  trifling,  but  earnest  work.  There 
fore  having  found  a  seat  in  the  saloon  of  tne  boat, 
she  drew  out  of  her  leather  bag  one  of  her  garden- 
books,  and  some  agricultural  papers,  and  com- 
menced studying  over  for  the  twentieth  time  the 
labors  proper  for  April.  After  reading  a  while, 
she  leaned  back  and  closed  her  eyes  and  tried  to 
form  such  crude  plans  as  were  possible  in  her 
inexperience  and  lack  of  knowledge  of  a  place  that 
she  had  not  even  seen. 

Opening  her  eyes  suddenly  she  saw  old  Hanni- 
bal sitting  near  and  regarding  her  wistfully. 

"You  are  a  foolish  old  fellow  to  stay  with  us," 
she  said  to  him.  "  You  could  have  obtained  plenty 
of  nice  places  in  the  city.  What  made  you  do  it  ?  " 

"  Is'e  couldn't  gib  any  good  reason  to  de  world, 
Miss  Edie,  but  de  one  I  hab  kinder  satisfies  my 
ole  black  heart." 

"  Your  heart  isn't  black,  Hannibal." 

"  How  you  know  dat  ?  "  he  asked  quickly. 

"  Because  I've  seen  it  often  and  often.  Some- 
times I  think  it  is  whiter  than  mine.  I  now  and 
then  feel  so  desperate  and  wicked,  that  I  am  afraid 
of  myself." 

"  There  now,  you'se  worried  and  worn  out  and 
you  thinks  dat's  being  wicked." 

"  No,  I'm  satisfied  it  is  something  worse  than 
that.  I  wonder  if  God  does  care  about  people  who 
are  in  trouble,  I  mean  practically,  so  as  to  help 
them  any?" 

•  Well,  I  specs  he  does,"  said  Hannibal  vaguely. 


A  DESER  T  I  SLA  ND.  137 

4  But  den  dere's  so  many  in  trouble  dat  I  m  afearrf 
some  hab  to  kinder  look  arter  thesselves."  Then 
as  if  a  bright  thought  struck  him,  he  added, "  I  specs 
he  sorter  lumps  'em  jes  as  Massa  Allen  did  when 
he  said  he  was  sorry  for  de  people  burned  up  in 
Chicago.  He  sent  'em  a  big  lot  ob  money  and  den 
seemed  to  forget  all  about  'em." 

Hannibal  had  never  given  much  attention  to 
religion,  and  perhaps  was  not  the  best  authority 
that  Edith  could  have  consulted.  But  his  conclu- 
sion seemed  to  secure  her  consent,  for  she  leaned 
back  wearily  and  again  closed  her  eyes  saying, — 

"  Yes,  we  are  mere  human  atoms,  lost  sight  of 
in  the  multitude." 

Soon  her  deep  regular  breathing  showed  that 
she  was  asleep,  and  Hannibal  muttered  softly, — 

"  Bress  de  child,  dat  will  do  her  a  heap  more 
good  dan  asking  dem  deep  questions,"  and  he 
watched  beside  her  like  a  large  faithful  Newfound- 
land dog. 

At  last  he  touched  her  elbow  and  said,  "  We 
get  off  at  de  next  landing,  and  I  guess  we  mus  be 
pretty  nigh  dare." 

Edith  started  up  much  refreshed  and  asked, 
"  What  sort  of  an  evening  is  it?" 

"Well,  Fse  sorry  to  say  it's  rainin'  hard  and 
berry  dark." 

To  her  dismay  she  also  found  that  it  was  nearly 
nine  o'clock.  The  boat  had  been  late  in  starting, 
and  was  so  heavily  laden  as  to  make  slow  progress 
against  wind  and  tide.  Edith's  heart  sank  within 


138  IV a  AT  CAN  SHE  DOT 

her  at-the  thought  of  landing  alone  in  a  strange 
place  that  dismal  night.  It  was  indeed  new  ex- 
perience to  her.  But  she  donned  her  waterproof 
and  the  moment  the  boat  touched  the  wharf,  hur- 
ried ashore,  and  stood  under  her  small  umbrella, 
while  her  household  gods  were  being  hustled  out 
into  the  drenching  rain.  She  knew  the  injury  that 
must  result  to  them  unless  they  could  speedily  be 
carried  into  the  boat-house  near.  At  first  there 
seemed  no  one  to  do  this  save  Hannibal,  who  at 
once  set  to  work,  but  she  soon  observed  a  man  with 
a  lantern  gathering  up  some  butter-tubs  that  the 
boat  was  landing,  and  she  immediately  appealed  to 
him  for  help. 

"  I'm  not  the  dock-master/'  was  the  gruff  reply. 

"  You  are  a  man,  are  you  not,  and  one  that  will 
not  turn  away  from  a  lady  in  distress.  If  my  things 
stand  long  in  this  rain  they  will  be  greatly  injured." 

The  man  thus  adjured  turned  his  lantern  on 
the  speaker,  and  while  we  recognize  the  features 
of  our  acquaintance,  Arden  Lacey,  he  sees  a 
face  on  that  old  dock  that  quite  startles  him.  If 
Edith  had  dropped  down  with  the  rain,  she  could 
not  have  been  more  unexpected,  and  with  her 
large  dark  eyes  flashing  suddenly  on  him,  and  her 
appealing  yet  half  indignant  voice  breaking  in  upon 
the  waking  dream,  with  which  he  was  beguiling  the 
outward  misery  of  the  night,  it  seemed  as  if  one  of 
the  characters  of  his  fancy  had  suddenly  become 
real.  He  who  would  have  passed  Edith  in  surly 
unnoting  indifference  on  the  open  street  in  the 


A  DESERT  ISLAND.  1 39 

garish  light  of  day,  now  took  the  keenest  interest 
in  her.  He  had  actually  been  appealed  to,  as  an 
ancient  knight  might  have  been,  by  a  damsel  in 
distress,  and  he  turned  and  helped  her  with  a  will, 
which,  backed  by  his  powerful  strength,  soon  placed 
her  goods  under  shelter.  The  lagging  dock-master 
politicly  kept  out  of  the  way  till  the  work  was 
almost  done  and  then  bustled  up  and  made  some 
show  of  assisting  in  time  for  any  fees,  if  they  were 
offered,  but  Arden  told  him  that  since  he  had  kept 
out  of  sight  so  long,  he  might  remain  invisible," 
which  was  the  unpopular  way  the  young  man  had. 

When  the  last  article  had  been  placed  under 
shelter  Edith  said, — 

"  I  appreciate  your  help  exceedingly.  How 
much  am  I  to  pay  you  for  your  trouble  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  was  the  rather  curt  reply. 

The  appearance  of  a  lady  like  Edith,  with  a 
beauty  that  seemed  weird  and  strange  as  he  caught 
glimpses  of  her  face  by  the  fitful  rays  of  his  lantern, 
had  made  a  sudden  and  strong  impression  on  his 
morbid  fancy  and  fitted  the  wild  imaginings  with 
which  he  had  occupied  the  dreary  hour  of  waiting 
for  the  boat.  The  presence  of  her  sable  attendant 
had  increased  these  impressions.  But  when  she 
took  out  her  purse  to  pay  him  his  illusions  van- 
ished. Therefore  the  abrupt  tone  in  which  he 
said  "  Nothing,"  and  which  was  mainly  caused  by 
vexation  with  the  matter  of  fact  world  that  con- 
tinually  mocked  his  unreal  one. 

"  I  don't  quite  understand   you, '  said  Edith, 


140  WffAl  CAN  SHE  DOt 

"  I  had  no  intention  of  employing  your  time  and 
strength  without  remuneration." 

**  I  told  you  I  was  not  the  dock-master,"  said 
Arden  rather  coldly.  "  He'll  take  all  the  fees  you 
will  give  him.  You  appealed  to  me  as  a  man,  and 
said  you  were  in  distress.  I  helped  you  as  a  man. 
Good  evening." 

"  Stay,"  said  Edith  hastily.  "You  seem  not 
only  a  man,  but  a  gentleman,  and  I  am  tempted, 
in  view  of  my  situation,  to  trespass  still  further  on 
your  kindness/'  but  she  hesitated  a  moment. 

It  perhaps  had  never  been  intimated  to  Arden 
before  that  he  was  a  gentleman,  certainly  never  in 
the  tone  with  which  Edith  spoke,  and  his  fanciful 
chivalric  nature  responded  at  once  to  the  touch  of 
that  chord.  With  the  accent  of  voice  he  ever  used 
toward  his  mother,  he  said, — 

"  I  am  at  your  service." 

"We  are  strangers  here,"  continued  Edith. 
"  Is  there  any  place  near  the  landing  where  we  can 
get  safe  comfortable  lodging  ?  " 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say  there  is  not.  The  village  ia 
a  mile  away." 

"  How  can  we  get  there?  " 

"  Isn't  the  stage  down  ?  "  asked  Arden  of  the 
dock-master. 

"  No !  "  was  the  gruff  response* 

"  The  night  is  so  bad  I  suppose  they  didn't 
come.  I  would  take  you  myself  in  a  minute  if  I 
had  a  suitable  wagon." 

"  Necessity    knows    no    choice,"    said    Edith 


A  DESERT  ISLAND.  \^\ 

quickly.  "  I  will  go  with  you  in  any  kind  of  a 
wagon,  and  I  surely  hope  you  won't  leave  me  on 
this  lonely  dock  in  the  rain." 

."Certainly  not,"  said  Arden,  reddening  in  the 
darkness  that  he  could  be  thought  capable  of  such 
an  act.  "  But  I  thought  I  could  drive  to  the  vil- 
lage and  send  a  carriage  for  you." 

"  I  would  rather  go  with  you  now,  if  you  will  kt 
me,"  said  Edith  decidedly. 

"  The  best  I  have  is  at  your  service,  but  I  fear 
you  will  be  sorry  for  your  choice.  I've  only  a 
board  for  a  seat,  and  my  wagon  has  no  springs 
Perhaps  I  could  get  a  low  box  for  you  to  sit  on." 

"  Hannibal  can  sit  on  the  box.  With  your  per 
mission  I  will  sit  with  you,  for  I  wish  to  ask  you 
some  questions." 

Arden  hung  his  lantern  on  a  hook  in  front  of 
his  wagon,  and  helped  or  partly  lifted  Edith  over 
the  wheel  to  the  seat,  which  was  simply  a  board 
resting  on  the  sides  of  the  box.  He  turned  a 
butter-tub  upside  down  for  Hannibal,  and  then 
they  jogged  out  from  behind  the  boat-house  where 
he  had  sheltered  his  horses. 

This  was  all  a  new  experience  to  Arden.  He 
had,  from  his  surly  misanthropy,  little  familiarity 
with  society  of  any  kind,  and  since  as  a  boy,  he 
had  romped  with  the  girls  at  school,  he  had  been 
almost  a  total  stranger  to  all  women  save  those  in 
his  own  home.  Most  young  men  would  have  been 
awkward  louts  under  the  circumstances.  But  this 
was  not  true  of  Arden,  for  he  ha»l  daily  been 


I42  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DO? 

holding  converse  in  the  books  he  dreamed  over 
with  women  of  finer  clay  than  he  could  have  found 
at  Pushton.  He  \\  ould  have  been  excessively 
awkward  in  a  drawing-room  or  any  place  of  con- 
ventional resort,  or  rather  he  would  have  been 
sullen  and  bearish,  but  the  place  and  manner  in 
which  he  had  met  Edith,  accorded  with  his  roman 
tic  fancy,  and  the  darkness  shielded  his  rough  ex- 
terior from  observation. 

Moreover,  the  presence  of  this  flesh  and  blood 
woman  at  his  side  gave  him  different  sensations 
from  the  stately  dames,  or  even  the  most  piquant 
maidens  that  had  smiled  upon  him  in  the  shadowy 
scenes  of  his  imagination  ;  and  when  at  times,  as 
the  wagon  jolted  heavily,  she  grasped  his  arm  for 
a  second  to  steady  herself,  it  seemed  as  if  the 
dusky  little  figure  at  his  side  was  a  sort  of  human 
electric  battery  charged  \vith  that  subtle  fluid 
which  some  believe  the  material  life  of  the  uni- 
verse. Every  now  and  then  as  they  bounced  over 
a  stone,  the  lantern  would  bob  up  and  throw  a  ray 
on  a  face  like  those  that  had  looked  out  upon 
him  from  the  plays  of  Shakspeare  whose  scenes 
are  laid  in  Italy. 

Thus  the  dark,  chilly,  rainy  night,  was  becom- 
ing the  most  luminous  period  of  his  life.  Reason 
and  judgment  act  slowly,  but  imagination  takes 
fire. 

But  to  poor  Edith,  all  was  real  and  dismal 
enough,  and  she  often  sighed  heavily.  To  Arden 
each  sigh  was  an  appeal  for  sympathy.  He  had 


A  DESERT  ISLAND.  143 

driven  as  rapidly  as  he  dared  in  the  darkness  to 
get  hei  out  of  the  rain,  but  at  last  she  said  clinging 
to  his  arm, — 

"  Won't  you  drive  slowly,  the  jolting  has  given 
me  a  pain  in  my  side." 

He  was  conscious  of  a  new  and  peculiar  sensa- 
tion there  also,  though  not  from  jolting.  He  had 
been  used  to  that  in  many  ways  all  his  life,  but, 
thereafter  they  jogged  forward  on  a  walk  through 
the  drizzling  rain,  and  Edith,  recovering  her 
breath,  and  a  sense  of  security,  began  to  ask  the 
questions. 

"  Do  you  know  where  the  cottage  is  that  was 
formerly  owned  by  Mr.  Jenks?" 

"  Oh  yes,  it's  not  far  from  our  house — between 
our  house  and  the  village."  Then  as  if  a  sudden 
thought,  struck  him  he  added  quickly,  "  I  heard  it 
was  sold,  are  you  the  owner?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Edith  a  little  coolly,  she  had  ex- 
pected to  question  and  not  be  questioned.  And 
yet  she  was  very  glad  she  had  met  one  who  knew 
about  her  place.  But  she  resolved  to  be  non-com- 
mittal till  she  knew  more  about  him. 

"What  sort  of  a  house  is  it?  "  she  asked  after 
a  moment.  "  I  have  never  seen  it." 

"  Well,  it's  not  very  large  and  I  fear  it  is  some- 
what out  of  repair — at  least  it  looks  so,  and  I 
should  think  a  new  roof  was  needed.'' 

•Edith  could  not  help  saying  pathetically,  "  Oh, 
dear,  I'm  so  sorry." 

Arden  then  added  hastily.     "  But  it's  a  kind  of 


144  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DO t 

a  pretty  place  too — a  great  many  fruit  trees  and 
grape  vines  on  it." 

"  So  I've  been  told,"  said  Edith.  "  And  that 
will  be  its  chief  attraction  to  me." 

*'  Then  you  are  going  to  live  there  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

Arden's  heart  gave  a  sudden  throb.  Then  he 
would  see  this  mysterious  stranger  often.  But  he 
smiled  half  bitterly  in  the  darkness  as  he  queried, 
"What  will  she  appear  like  in  the  daylight?" 

Her  next  question  broke  the  spell  he  was  under 
utterly.  They  were  passing  through  the  village 
and  the  little  hotel  was  near,  and  she  naturally 
asked, — 

"  To  whom  am  I  indebted  for  all  this  kindness? 
I  am  glad  to  know  so  much  as  that  you  are  my 
neighbor." 

Suddenly  and  painfully  conscious  of  his  out- 
ward life  and  surroundings,  he  answered  briefly, — 

"  My  name  is  Arden  Lacey.  We  have  a  small 
farm  a  little  beyond  your  cottage." 

Wondering  at  his  change  of  tone  and  manner, 
Edith  still  ventured  to  ask, — 

"  And  do  you  know  of  any  one  who  could  bring 
my  furniture  and  things  up  to-morrow?5' 

As  he  sometimes  did  that  kind  of  work,  an 
impulse  to  see  more  of  her  impelled  him  to  say, — 

"  I  suppose  I  can  do  it.     I  work  for  a  living." 

"  I  am  sure  that  is  nothing  against  you,"  said 
Edith  kindly. 

"  You  will  not  live  long  in  Pushton  before  learn- 


A  DESERT  ISLAND.  145 

Ing  that  there  is  something  against  us,"  was  the 
bitter  reply.  "  But  that  need  not  prevent  my 
working  for  you,  as  I  do  for  others.  If  you  wish, 
I  will  make  a  fire  in  your  house  early,  to  take  off 
the  chill  and  dampness,  and  then  go  for  your  furni- 
ture. The  people  here  will  send  you  out  in  a  car- 
riage." 

"  I  will  be  greatly  obliged  if  you  will  do  so  and 
let  me  pay  you.'' 

"  Oh  certainly,  I  will  charge  the  usual  rates.'' 

"  Well,  then,  how  much  for  to-night  ? "  said 
Edith  as  she  stood  in  the  hotel  door. 

"To-night  is  another  affair,3'  and  he  jumped 
into  his  wagon  and  rattled  away  in  the  darkness, 
his  lantern  looking  like  a  "will-o'-the-wisp"'  that 
might  vanish  altogether. 

The  landlord  receive  i  Edith  and  her  attendant 
with  a  gruff  civility,  and  gave  her  in  charge  of  his 
wife,  who  was  a  bustling  red-faced  woman  with  a 
sort  of  motherly  kindness  about  her. 

"  Why  you  poor  child,"  she  said  to  Edith,  turning 
her  round  before  the  light,  "  you're  half  drowned. 
You  must  have  something  hot  right  away,  cr  you'll 
take  your  death  o'  cold,"  and  with  something  of 
her  husband's  faith  in  whiskey,  she  soon  brought 
Edith  a  hot  popch  that  for  a  few  moments  seemed 
to  make  the  girl's  head  spin,  but  as  it  was  fol- 
lowed by  strong  tea  and  toast,  she  felt  none  the 
worse,  and  danger  from  the  chill  and  wet  was 
effectually  disposed  of. 

As   she   sat   sipping  her  tea  before  a  red-hot 
7 


I46 


WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DO  t 


stove,  she  told,  in  answer  to  the  landlady's  quca 
tions,  how  she  had  got  up  from  the  boat. 

"  Who  is  this  Lacey,  and  what  is  there  against 
them  ? ''  she  asked  suddenly. 

The  hostess  went  across  the  hall,  opened  the 
bar-room  door,  and  beckoned  Edith  to  follow  her. 

In  a  chair  by  the  stove  sat  a  miserable  bloated 
wreck  of  a  man,  drivelling  and  mumbling  in  a 
drunken  lethargy. 

"  That's  his  father,"  said  the  woman  in  a  whis* 
per,  "  When  he  gets  as  bad  as  that  he  comes  here 
because  he  knows  my  husband  is  the  only  one  as 
won't  turn  him  out  of  doors." 

An  expression  of  intense  disgust  flitted  across 
Edith's  face,  and  by  the  necessary  law  of  associa- 
tion, poor  Arden  sank  in  her  estimation,  through 
the  foulness  of  his  father's  vice. 

"  Is  there  anything  against  the  son  ?  "  asked 
Edith  in  some  alarm.  "  I've  engaged  him  to  bring 
up  my  furniture  and  trunks.  I  hope  he's  honest/' 

"Oh,  yes,  he's  honest  enough,  and  he'd  be 
mighty  mad  if  any  body  questioned  that,  but  he's 
kind  o'  soured  and  ugly,  and  don't  notice  nobody  nor 
nothing.  The  son  and  Mrs.  Lacey  keep  to  them- 
selves, the  man  does  as  you  see,  but  the  daughter, 
who's  a  smart  pretty  girl,  tries  to  rise  above  it  all, 
and  make  her  way  among  the  rest  of  the  girls  ;  but 
she  has  a  hard  time  of  it,  I  guess,  poor  child." 

"I  don't  wonder,"  said  Edith,  "with  such  a 
father." 

But  between  the  punch  and  fatigue,  she  wai 


A  DESERT  ISLAND  147 

glid  to  take  refuge  from  the  landlady's  garrulous- 
ness,  and  all  her  troubles,  in  quiet  sleep. 

The  next  morning  the  storm  was  passing 
away  in  broken  masses  of  clouds,  through  which 
the  sun  occasionally  shone  in  April-like  uncertainty. 

After  an  early  breakfast  she  and  Hannibal  were 
driven  in  an  open  wagon  to  what  was  to  be  her  fu- 
ture home — the  scene  of  unknown  joys  and  sorrows. 

The  most  memorable  places,  where  the  mighti- 
est events  of  the  world  have  transpired,  can  never 
have  for  us  the  interest  of  that  humble  spot,  where 
the  little  drama  of  our  own  life,  will  pass  from  act 
to  act  till  our  exit. 

Most  eagerly  did  Edith  note  everything  as  re- 
vealed by  the  broad  light  of  day.  The  village, 
though  irregular,  had  a  general  air  of  thriftiness 
and  respectability.  The  street,  through  which 
she  was  riding,  gradually  fringed  off  from  stores  and 
offices,  into  neat  homes,  farm-houses,  and  here 
and  there  the  abodes  of  the  poor,  till  at  last  three- 
quarters  of  a  mile  out,  she  saw  a  rather  quaint  lit- 
tle cottage  with  a  roof  steeply  sloping  and  a  long 
low  porch. 

"  That's  your  place,  Miss,"  said  the  driver. 

Edith's  intent  eyes  took  in  the  general  effect 
with  something  of  the  practiced  rapidity  with 
which  she  mastered  a  lady's  toilet  on  the  Avenue. 

In  spite  of  her  predisposition  to  be  pleased,  the 
prospect  was  depressing.  The  season  was  late  and 
patches  of  discolored  snow  lay  here  and  there,  and 
were  piled  up  along  the  fences.  The  garden  and 


148  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DOt 

trees  had  a  neglected  look.  The  vines  that  clanv 
bered  up  the  porch  had  been  untrimmed  of  the 
last  year's  growth,  and  sprawled  in  every  direction. 
The  gate  hung  from  one  hinge,  and  many  pal- 
ings were  off  the  fence,  and  all  had  a  sodden,  dingy 
appearance  from  the  recent  rains.  The  house  it- 
self looked  so  dilapidated  and  small  in  contrast 
with  their  stately  mansion  on  Fifth  Avenue,  that 
irrepressible  tears  came  into  her  eyes,  as  she  mur- 
mured,— 

"  It  will  kill  mother  just  to  see  it." 

Old  Hannibal  said  in  a  low,  encouraging  tone, 
"  It'll  look  a  heap  better  next  June,  Miss  Edie." 

But  Edith  dropped  her  veil  to  hide  her  feelings, 
and  shook  her  head. 

They  got  down  before  the  shackly  gate,  took 
out  the  basket  of  provisions  which  Hannibal  had 
secured,  paid  the  driver,  who  splashed  away  through 
the  mud  as  a  boat  might  that  had  landed  and  left 
two  people  on  a  desert  island.  They  walked  up 
the  oozy  path  with  hearts  about  as  chill  and  empty 
as  the  unfurnished  cottage  before  them. 

But  utter  repulsiveness  had  been  taken  away 
by  a  bright  fire  that  Arden  had  kindled  on  the 
hearth  of  the  largest  room  ;  and  when  ligntmg  it 
he  had  been  so  romantic  as  to  dream  of  the  possi- 
bility of  kindling  a  more  sacred  fire  in  a  heart  that 
he  knew  now  to  be  as  cold  to  him  as  the  chilly 
room  in  which  he  shivered. 

Poor  Arden !  If  he  could  have  seen  the  ex4 
pression  on  Edith's  face  the  night  previous,  as  she 


A  DESERT  ISLAND.  149 

looked  on  his  besotted  father,  he  would  have 
cursed  what  he  termed  the  blight  of  his  life,  more 
bitterly  than  ever. 


CHAPTER  X. 

EDITH  BECOMES  A  "DIVINITY." 

A  S  the  wrecked  would  hasten  up  the  strand 
and  explore  eagerly  in  various  directions  in 
order  to  gain  some  idea  of  the  nature  and  resources 
of  the  place  where  they  might  spend  months  and 
even  years,  so  Edith  hurriedly  passed  from  one 
room  to  another,  looking  the  house  over  first,  as 
their  place  of  refuge  and  centre  of  life,  and  then 
went  out  to  a  spot  from  whence  she  could  obtain  a 
view  of  the  garden,  the  little  orchard,  and  pasture 
field. 

The  house  gave  them  three  rooms  on  the  first 
floor,  as  many  on  the  second,  and  a  very  small 
attic.  There  was  also  a  pretty  good  cellar,  though 
it  looked  to  Edith  a  black  dismal  hole,  full  of  rub- 
bish and  old  boxes. 

The  entrance  of  the  house  was  at  the  com- 
mencement of  the  porch,  which  ran  along  under  the 
windows  of  the  large  front  room.  Back  of  this 
was  one  much  smaller,  and  doors  opened  from  both 
the  apartments  named  into  a  long  and  rather  nar- 
row room  running  the  full  depth  of  the  house,  and 
which  had  been  designed  as  the  kitchen.  With 
the  families  that  would  naturally  occupy  a  house 
of  this  character,  it  would  have  been  the  general 


EDITH  BECOMES  A  "  DIVINITY?  \  5  \ 

living  room.  To  Edith's  eyes,  accustomed  to  mag- 
nificert  spaces  and  lofty  ceilings,  they  seemed 
stifling  dingy  cells.  The  walls  were  broken  in 
places  and  discolored  by  smoke,  and  with  the  ex- 
ception of  the  large  room  there  were  no  places  for 
open  fires,  but  only  holes  for  stovepipes. 

"  How  can  such  a  place  as  this  ever  look  home- 
like?" 

The  muddy  garden,  with  its  patches  of  snow, 
its  forlorn  and  neglected  air ;  its  spreading  vines 
and  thickly  standing  stalks  of  last  year's  weeds, 
was  even  less  inviting.  Edith  had  never  seen  the 
country  in  winter,  and  the  gardens  of  her  experi- 
ence were  full  of  green,  beautiful  life.  The  orchard 
not  only  looked  gaunt  and  bare,  but  very  untidy. 
The  previous  year  had  been  most  abundant  in  fruit, 
and  the  trees  were  left  to  bear  at  will.  Therefore 
many  of  the  limbs  were  wholly  or  partly  broken  off, 
and  lay  scattered  where  they  fell,  or  still  hung  by 
a  little  of  the  woody  fibre  and  bark. 

Edith  came  back  to  the  fire  from  the  survey 
of  her  future  home,  not  only  chilled  in  body  by 
the  raw  April  winds,  but  more  chilled  in  heart. 
Though  she  had  not  expected  summer  greenness 
and  a  sweet  inviting  home,  yet  the  reality  was  so 
dreary  and  forbidding  from  its  necessary  contrast 
with  the  past,  that  she  sank  down  on  the  floor,  and 
buried  her  head  in  her  lap  in  an  uncontrollable 
.passion  of  grief.  Hannibal  was  out  gathering 
wood  to  replenish  the  fire,  and  it  was  a  luxury  to 
be  alone  a  fe\v  minutes  with  her  sorrow. 


IJ2  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOf 

But  soon  she  had  the  consciousness  that  she 
was  not  alone,  and  looking  up,  saw  Arden  in  the 
door,  with  a  grave  troubled  face.  Hastily  turning 
from  him,  and  wiping  away  her  tears,  she  said 
rather  coldly : 

"  You  should  have  knocked.  The  house  is 
my  home,  if  it  is  empty." 

His  face  changed  instantly  to  its  usual  hard 
sullen  aspect,  and  he  said  briefly, 

"I  did  knock." 

"  The  landlady  has  told  her  all  about  us,"  he 
thought,  "  and  she  rejects  symypathy  and  fellow- 
ship from  such  as  we  are." 

But  Edith's  feeling  had  only  been  annoyance 
that  a  stranger  had  seen  her  emotion,  so  she  said 
quickly,  "  I  beg  your  pardon.  We  have  had 
trouble,  but  I  don't  give  way  in  this  manner  often. 
Have  you  brought  a  load  ?  " 

"  Yes.  If  your  servant  will  help  me  I  will 
bring  the  things  in." 

As  he  and  Hannibal  carried  in  heavy  rolls  of 
carpet  and  other  articles,  Edith  removed  as  far  as 
possible  the  traces  of  her  grief,  and  soon  began  to 
scan  by  the  light  of  day  with  some  curiosity  her 
acquaintance  of  the  previous  evening.  He  was 
the  very  opposite  to  herself  in  appearance.  Her 
eyes  were  large  and  dark.  He  had  a  rather  small 
but  piercing  blue  eye.  His  locks  were  light  and 
curly,  and  his  beard  sandy.  Her  hair  was  brown 
and  straight.  He  was  full  six  feet,  while  she  was 
only  of  medium  height.  And  yet  Edith  was  not  a 


EDITH  BECOMES  A  "  DIVINITY."  153 

brunette,  but  possessed  a  complexion  of  transpa- 
rent delicacy  which  gave  her  the  fragile  appearance 
characteristic  of  so  many  American  girls.  His 
face  was  much  tanned  by  exposure  to  March 
winds,  but  his  brow  was  as  white  as  hers.  In  his 
morbid  tendency  to  shun  every  one,  he  usually 
kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground  so  as  to  appear 
not  to  see  people,  and  this,  with  his  habitual 
frown,  gave  a  rather  heavy  and  repelling  expres- 
sion to  his  face. 

"  He  would  make  a  very  good  representative 
of  the  laboring  classes,"  she  thought,  "  if  he  hadn't 
so  disagreeable  an  expression.'5 

It  had  only  dimly  dawned  upon  poor  Edith  as 
yet,  that  she  now  belonged  to  the  "  laboring 
classes." 

But  her  energetic  nature  soon  reacted  against 
idle  grieving,  and  her  pale  cheeks  grew  rosy,  and  her 
face  full  of  eager  life  as  she  assisted  and  directed. 

"  If  I  only  had  one  or  two  women  to  help  me 
we  could  soon  get  things  settled,'1  she  said,  "  and 
I  have  so  little  time  before  the  rest  come." 

Then  she  added  suddenly  to  Arden,  "  Haven't 
you  sisters  ?  " 

"  My  sister  does  not  go  out  to  service,'5  said 
Arden  proudly. 

"  Neither  do  I,55  said  the  shrewd  Edith,  "  but  I 
would  be  willing  to  help  any  one  in  such  an  emer- 
gency as  I  am  in,"  and  she  glanced  keenly  to  see 
the  effect  of  this  speech,  while  she  thought,  "  What 
airs  these  people  put  on  ' 
7* 


154  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DO t 

Arden's  face  changed  instantly.  Her  words 
seemed  like  a  ray  of  sunlight  falling  on  a  place 
before  shadowed,  for  the  sullen  frowning  expres- 
sion passed  into  one  almost  of  gentleness,  as  he 
said, — 

"  That  puts  things  in  a  different  light.  I  am  sure 
Rose  and  mother  both  will  be  willing  to  help  you 
as  neighbors,"  and  he  started  after  another  load, 
going  around  by  the  way  of  his  home  and  readily 
obtaining  from  his  mother  and  sister  a  promise  to 
assist  Edith  after  dinner. 

Edith  smiled  to  herself  and  said,  "  I  have  found 
the  key  to  his  surly  nature  already."  She  had, 
and  to  many  other  natures  also.  Kindness  and 
human  fellowship  will  unbar  and  unbolt  where  all 
other  forces  may  clamor  in  vain. 

Arden  went  away  in  a  maze  of  new  sensations. 
This  one  woman  of  all  the  world  beside  his  mother 
and  sister  that  he  had  come  to  know  somewhat, 
was  to  him  a  strange  beautiful  mystery.  Edith 
was  in  many  respects  conventional,  as  all  society 
girls  are,  but  it  was  the  conventionality  of  a  sphere 
of  life  that  Arden  knew  only  through  books,  and 
she  seemed  to  him  utterly  different  from  the  ladies 
of  Pushton  as  he  understood  them  from  his  slight 
acquaintance.  This  difference  was  all  in  her  favor, 
for  he  cherished  a  bitter  and  unreasonable  pre- 
judice against  the  young  girls  of  his  neighborhood 
as  vain  shallow  creatures  who  never  read,  and 
thought  of  nothing  save  dress  and  beaux.  His  own 
sister  in  fact  had  helped  to  confirm  these  impressions, 


EDITH  BECOMES  A  "  DIVINITY  \  5 5 

for  »vhile  he  was  fond  of  her  and  kind,  he  had  no 
great  admiration  for  her,  saying  in  his  sweeping 
cynicism,  "  She  is  like  the  rest  of  them."  If  he 
had  met  Edith  only  in  the  street  and  in  conven- 
tional ways,  stylishly  dressed,  he  would  scarcely 
have  noticed  her.  But  her  half  indignant,  half  pa- 
thetic appeal  to  him  on  the  dock,  the  lonely  ride  in 
which  she  had  clung  to  his  arm  for  safety,  her 
tears,  and  the  manner  in  which  she  had  last  spoken 
to  him,  had  all  combined  thoroughly  to  pierce  his 
shell  of  sullen  reserve ;  and,  as  we  have  said,  his 
vivid  imagination  had  taken  fire. 

Edith  and  Hannibal  worked  hard  the  rest  of 
the  forenoon,  and  her  experienced  old  attendant 
was  invaluable.  Edith  herself,  though  having  little 
practical  knowledge  of  work  of  any  kind,  had  vigor 
and  natural  judgment,  and  her  small  white  hands 
accomplished  more  than  one  would  suppose. 

So  Arden  wonderingly  thought  on  his  return 
with  a  second  load,  as  he  saw  her  lift  and  handle 
things  that  he  knew  to  be  heavy.  Her  short  close- 
fitting  working-dress  outlined  her  fine  figure  to  ad- 
vantage, and  with  complexion  bright  and  dazzling 
with  exercise,  she  seemed  to  him  some  frail  fairy« 
like  creature  doomed  by  a  cruel  fate  to  unsuited 
toil  and  sorrows.  But  Edith  was  very  mattef 
of  fact,  and  had  never  in  all  her  life  thought  of 
herself  as  a  fairy. 

Arden  went  home  to  dinner,  and  by  one  o'clock 
Edith  said  to  Hannibal, — 

"  There  IF  one  good  thing  about  the  place  if  no 


j  56  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DO  t 

other.  It  gives  one  a  savage  appetite.  What  hive 
you  got  in  the  basket  ?  " 

"  A  scrumptious  lunch,  Miss  Edie.  I  told  de 
landlady  you'se  used  to  having  things  mighty  nice, 
and  den  I  found  a  hen's  nest  in  de  barn  dis 
morninV 

"  I  hope  you  didn't  take  the  eggs,  Hannibal," 
said  Edith  slyly. 

"  Sartirr  I  did,  Miss  Edie,  cause  if  I  didn't  de 
rats  would." 

"  Perhaps  the  landlady  would  also  if  you  had 
shown  them  to  her." 

"  Miss  Edie,"  said  Hannibal  solemnly,  "  finding 
a  hen's  nest  is  like  finding  a  gold  mine.  It  belongs 
to  de  one  dat  finds  it." 

"  I'm  afraid  that  wouldn't  stand  in  law.  Sup- 
pose we  were  arrested  for  robbing  hen's  nests. 
That  wouldn't  be  a  good  introduction  to  our  new 
neighbors." 

"  Now,  Miss  Edie,"  said  Hannibal,  with  an  in- 
jured air,  "  you  don't  spec  I  do  a  job  like  dat  so 
bungly  as  to  get  cotched  at  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  said  Edith,  laughing,  "  since 
you  have  conformed  to  the  morality  of  the  age,  it 
must  oe  all  right,  and  a  fresh  egg  would  be  a  rich 
treat  now  that  it  can  be  eaten  with  a  clear  con- 
science.  But  Hannibal,  I  wish  you  would  find  a 
gold  mine  out  in  the  garden." 

"  I  guess  you'se  find  dat  with  all  your  read  in 
about  strawberries  and  other  yarbs." 

"  I  hope  so,"  £«:*d  Edith  with  a  sigh,  "  for  I 


EDITH  BECOMES  A  *  DIVINITY?  157 

don't  see  how  we  are  going  to  live  here  year  aftei 
year." 

"  You'se  be  rich  again.  De  men  wid  de  long 
pusses  aint  agoin'  to  look  at  your  black  eyes  for 
nothin',''  and  Hannibal  chuckled  knowingly. 

The  color  faintly  deepened  in  Edith's  cheeks,  but 
she  said  with  some  scorn,  "  Men  with  long  purses 
want  girls  with  the  same  But  who  are  these?" 

Coming  up  the  path  they  saw  a  tall  middle-aged 
woman,  and  by  her  side,  a  young  girl  of  about 
eighteen  who  was  a  marked  contrast  in  appearance. 

"  Dey's  his  mother  and  sister.  You  will  drive 
tings  dis  arternoon." 

Mrs.  Lacey  and  her  daughter  entered  with 
some  little  hesitancy  and  embarrassment,  but 
Edith,  with  the  poise  of  an  accomplished  lady,  at 
once  put  them  at  ease  by  saying, — 

"  It  is  exceedingly  kind  of  you  to  come  and 
help,  and  I  appreciate  it  very  much." 

"  No  one  should  refuse  to  be  neighborly,"  said 
Mrs.  Lacey  quietly. 

"  And  to  tell  the  truth  I  was  delighted  to  come," 
said  Rose,  "  the  winter  has  been  so  long  and  dull." 

"  Oh  dear,"  thought  Edith,  "  if  you  find  them 
so,  what  will  be  our  fate?" 

Mrs.  Lacey  undid  a  bundle  and  took  out  a  tea- 
pot from  which  the  steam  yet  oozed  faintly,  and 
Rose  undid  another  containing  some  warm  buttered 
biscuits,  Mrs.  Lacey  saying,  '  I  thought  your  lunch 
might  seem  a  little  cold  and  cheerless>  so  I  brought 
these  along." 


IS8 


WHAT  CAN  SHE  DCt 


"  Now  that  is  kind,"  said  Edith,  so  cordially 
that  their  faces  flushed  with  that  natural  pleasure 
which  we  all  feel  when  our  little  efforts  for  others 
are  appreciated.  To  them  it  was  intensified,  for 
Edith  was  a  grand  city  lady,  and  the  inroads  that 
she  made  on  the  biscuits  and  the  zest  with  which 
she  sipped  her  tea  showed  that  her  words  had  the 
ring  of  truth. 

"  Do  sit  down  and  eat,  while  things  are  nice 
and  warm,"  she  said  to  Hannibal.  "  There's  no  use 
of  our  putting  on  airs  now,"  but  Hannibal  insisted 
on  waiting  upon  her  as  when  butler  in  the  great 
dining  room  on  the  Avenue,  and  when  she  was 
through,  carried  the  things  off  to  the  empty  kitch- 
en, and  took  his  "  bite"  on  a  packing  box,  prefa- 
cing it  as  his  nearest  approach  to  grace  by  an  in- 
dignant grunt  and  profession  of  his  faith. 

"  Dis  ole  niggah  eat  before  her  ?  Not  much ! 
She's  quality  now  as  much  as  eber." 

But  the  world  and  Hannibal  were  at  variance 
on  account  of  a  sum  of  subtraction  which  had  taken 
away  from  Edith's  name  the  dollar  symbol. 

Edith  set  to  work,  with  her  helpers  now  in- 
creased to  three,  with  renewed  zest,  and  from  time 
to  time  stole  glances  at  the  mother  and  daughter 
to  see  what  the  natives  were  like. 

They  were  very  different  in  appearance :  the 
mother  looking  prematurely  old,  and  she  also 
seemed  bent  and  stooping  under  the  heavy  bur- 
dens of  life.  Her  dark  blue  eyes  had  a  weary 
pathetic  look,  as  if  some  sorrow  was  ever  before 


EDITH  BECOMES  A  "  DIVINIT K."  1 59 

them.  Her  cheek  bones  were  prominent  and 
cheeks  sunken,  and  the  thin  hair,  brushed  plainly 
under  her  cap,  was  streaked  with  grey.  Her  quiet- 
ness and  reserve  seemed  more  the  result  of  a 
crushed,  sad  heart  than  from  natural  lack  of  fetl 
ing. 

The  daughter  was  in  the  freshest  bloom  of 
youth,  and  was  not  unlike  the  flower  she  was 
named  after,  when,  as  a  dewy  bud,  it  begins  to  de- 
velop under  the  morning  sun.  Though  not  a 
beautiful  girl,  there  was  a  prettiness,  a  rural  breezi- 
ness  about  her,  that  would  cause  any  one  to  look 
twice  as  she  passed.  The  wind  ever  seemed  to  be 
in  her  light  flaxen  curls,  and  her  full  rounded 
figure  suggested  superabundant  vitality,  an  im- 
pression increased  by  her  quick,  restless  motions. 
Her  complexion  reminded  you  of  strawberries  and 
cream,  and  her  blue  eyes  had  a  slightly  bold  and 
defiant  expression.  She  felt  the  blight  of  her 
fathers  course  also,  but  it  acted  differently  on  her 
temperament.  Instead  of  timidly  shrinking  from 
the  world  like  her  mother,  or  sullenly  ignoring  it 
like  her  brother,  she  was  for  going  into  society  and 
compelling  it  to  recognize  and  respect  her. 

"  I  have  done  nothing  wrong,"  she  said ;  "  I 
insist  on  people  treating  me  in  view  of  what  I  am 
myself; ''  and  in  the  sanguine  spirit  of  youth  she 
hoped  to  carry  her  point.  Therefore  her  manner 
was  a  little  self-asserting,  which  would  not  have 
freen  the  case  had  she  not  felt  that  she  had  preju- 
dice to  overcome.  Unlike  her  brother,  she  cared 


I&O  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOt 

little  for  books,  and  had  no  ideal  world,  but  lived 
vividly  in  her  immediate  surroundings.  The  older 
she  grew,  the  duller  and  more  monotonous  did  her 
home  life  seem.  She  had  little  sympathy  from  her 
brother ;  her  mother  was  a  sad,  silent  woman,  and 
her  father  a  daily  source  of  trouble  and  shame. 
Her  education  was  very  imperfect,  and  she  had  no 
resource  in  this,  while  her  daily  work  seemed  a 
tiresome  round  that  brought  little  return.  Her 
mother  attended  to  the  more  important  duties  and 
gave  to  her  the  lighter  tasks,  which  left  her  con- 
siderable leisure.  She  had  no  work  that  stimu- 
lated her,  no  training  that  made  her  thorough  in 
any  department  of  labor,  however  humble.  From 
a  friend,  a  dressmaker  in  the  village  she  obtained  a 
little  fancy  work  and  sewing,  and  the  proceeds  re- 
sulting, and  all  her  brother  gave  her,  she  spent  in 
dress.  The  sums  were  small  enough  in  all  truth, 
and  yet  with  the  marvellous  ingenuity  that  some 
girls,  fond  of  dress,  acquire,  she  made  a  very  little 
go  a  great  way,  and  she  would  often  appear  in  toil- 
ets that  were  quite  effective.  With  those  of  her 
own  age  and  sex  in  her  narrow  little  circle,  she 
was  not  a  special  favorite,  but  she  was  with  the 
young  men,  for  she  was  bright,  chatty,  and  had  the 
knack  of  putting  awkward  fellows  at  ease.  She 
kept  her  little  parlor  as  pretty  and  inviting  as  her 
limited  materials  permitted,  and  with  a  growing 
imperiousness  gave  the  rest  of  the  family,  and  es- 
pecially her  father,  to  understand  that  this  parlor 
was  her  domain,  and  that  she  would  permit  no  in- 


EDITH  BECOMES  A  "DIVINITY?  161 

trusion.  Clerks  from  the  village  and  farmers'  sons 
would  occasionally  drop  in  of  an  evening,  though 
they  preferred  taking  her  out  to  ride  where  they 
could  see  her  away  from  her  home.  But  the  more 
respectable  young  men,  with  anxious  mothers  and 
sisters  were  rather  shy  of  poor  Rose,  and  none 
seemed  to  care  to  go  beyond  a  mild  flirtation  with 
a  girl  whose  father  was  on  a  "rampage,"  as  they 
expressed  it,  most  of  the  time.  On  one  occasion, 
when  she  had  two  young  friends  spending  the 
evening,  her  father  came  home  reckless  and  wild 
with  drink,  and  his  language  toward  the  young 
men  was  so  shocking,  and  his  manner  in  general 
so  outrageous,  that  they  were  glad  to  get  away. 
If  Arden  had  not  come  home  and  collared  his 
father,  carrying  him  off  to  his  room  by  his  almost 
irresistible  strength,  Rose's  parlor  might  have  be- 
come a  sad  wreck,  literally  as  well  as  socially.  As 
it  was  it  seemed  deserted  for  a  long  time,  and  she 
felt  very  bitter  about  it.  In  her  fearless  frankness, 
her  determination  not  to  succumb  to  her  sinister 
surroundings,(and  perhaps  from  the  lack  of  a  sensi- 
tive delicacy^she  reproached  the  same  young  men 
when  she  met  them  for  staying  away,  saying,  "  It's 
a  shame  to  treat  a  girl  as  if  she  were  to  blame  for 
what  she  can't  help." 

But  Rose's  ambition  had  put  on  a  phase  against 
which  circumstances  were  too  strong,  and  she  was 
made,  to  feel  in  her  struggle  to  gain  a  social  foot- 
ing that  her  father's  leprosy  had  tainted  her,  and 
her  brothel's  "  ugly,  sullen  disposition,"  as  it  was 


1 62  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DO f 

termed,  ,vas  a  hindrance  also.  She  had  an  increas 
ing  desire  to  get  away  among  strangers,  where  she 
could  make  her  own  way  on  her  own  merits,  and 
the  city  of  New  York  seemed  to  her  a  great  Eldo- 
rado, where  she  might  find  her  true  career.  Some 
very  showily  dressed,  knowing-looking  girls,  that 
she  had  met  at  a  picnic,  had  increased  this  longing 
for  the  city.  Her  mother  and  brother  thought 
her  restless,  vain,  and  giddy,  but  she  was  as  good 
and  honest  a  girl  at  heart  as  breathed,  only  her 
vigorous  nature  chafed  at  repression,  wanted  out- 
lets, and  could  not  settle  down  for  life  to  cook, 
wash  and  sew  for  a  drunken  father,  a  taciturn 
brother,  or  even  a  mother  whose  companionship 
was  depressing,  much  as  she  was  loved. 

Rose  welcomed  the  request  of  her  brother,  as 
helping  Edith  would  cause  a  ripple  in  the  current 
of  her  dull  life,  and  give  her  a  chance  of  seeing  one 
of  the  grand  city  ladies,  without  the  dimness  and 
vagueness  of  distance,  and  she  scanned  Edith  with 
a  stronger  curiosity  than  was  bestowed  upon  her- 
self. The  result  was  rather  depressing  to  poor 
Rose,  for,  having  studied  with  her  quick  nice  eye, 
Edith's  exquisite  manner  and  movements,  she  sigh- 
ed to  herself, — 

"  I'm  not  such  a  lady  as  this  girl,  and  perhaps 
never  can  be." 

While  Edith  was  very  kind  and  cordial  to  the 
Laceys,  she  felt,  and  made  them  feel,  that  there 
was  a  vast  social  distance  between  them.  Even 
practical  Edith  had  not  yet  realized  her  poverty, 


EDITH  BECOMES  A  "  Dl  VINITY."  \  63 

and  it  would  take  her  some  time  to  doff  the  man* 
ner  of  the  condescending  lady. 

They  accomplished  a  great  deal  that  afternoon, 
but  it  takes  much  time  and  labor  to  make  even  a 
small  empty  house  look  home-like.  Edith  had  taken 
the  smallest  room  up  stairs,  and  by  evening  it  was 
quite  in  order  for  her  occupation,  she  meaning  to 
take  Zell  in  with  her.  Work  had  progressed  in 
the  largest  upper  room,  which  she  designed  for 
her  mother  and  Laura.  Mrs.  Lacey  and  Hannibal 
were  in  the  kitchen  getting  that  arranged,  they 
very  rightly  concluding  that  this  was  the  main 
spring  in  the  mechanism  of  material  living,  and 
should  be  put  in  readiness  at  once.  Arden  had 
been  instructed  to  purchase  and  bring  from  the 
village  a  cooking  stove,  and  Hannibal's  face  shone 
with  something  like  delight,  as  by  five  o'clock 
he  had  a  wood  fire  crackling  underneath  a  pot  of 
water,  feeling  that  the  terra  firma  of  comfort  was 
at  last  reached.  He  could  now  soak  in  his  favorite 
beverage  of  tea,  and  make  Miss  Edie  quite  "  pert- 
like"  too  when  she  was  tired. 

Mrs.  Lacey  worked  silently.  Rose  was  inclined 
to  be  chatty  and  draw  Edith  out  in  regard  to  city 
life.  She  responded  good  naturedly  as  long  as  Rose 
confined  herself  to  generalities,  but  was  inclined  to 
be  reticent  on  their  own  affairs. 

Before -dark  the  Laceys  prepared  to  return,  the 
mother  saying  gravely, — 

"  You  may  feel  it  too  lonely  to  stay  by  yourself. 
Our  house  is  not  very  inviting,  and  my  husband's 


104  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOt 

manner  is  not  always  what  I  could  wish,  but  such  aa 
it  is,  you  will  be  welcome  in  it  till  the  rest  of  your 
family  comes.'' 

"  You  are  very  kind  to  a  stranger,"  said  Edith, 
heartily,  "  but  I  am  not  a  bit  afraid  to  stay  here 
since  I  have  Hannibal  as  protector,''  and  Hannibal, 
elated  by  this  compliment,  looked  as  if  he  might  be 
a  very  dragon  to  all  intruders.  "  Moreover,"  con- 
tinued Edith,  "  you  have  helped  me  so  splendidly 
that  I  shall  be  very  comfortable  and  they  will  be 
here  to-morrow  night." 

Mrs.  Lacey  bowed  silently,  but  Rose  said  in 
her  sprightly  voice,  from  the  doorway : 

"  I'll  come  and  help  you  all  day  to-morrow." 

Arden  was  still  to  bring  one  more  load.  The 
setting  sun,  with  the  consistency  of  an  April 
day,  had  passed  into  a  dark  cloud  which  soon  came 
driving  on  with  wind  and  rain,  and  the  thick  drops 
dashed  against  the  windows  as  if  thrown  from  a 
vast  syringe,  while  the  gutter  gurgled  and  groaned 
with  the  sudden  rush  of  water. 

"Oh  dear,  how  dismal!"  sighed  Edith  looking 
out  in  the  gathering  darkness.  Then  she  saw  that 
the  loaded  wagon  had  just  stopped  at  the  gate,  and 
in  dim  outline,  Arden  sat  in  the  storm  as  if  he  had 
been  a  post.  "  It's  too  bad,"  she  said  impatiently, 
"  my  things  will  all  get  wet."  After  a  moment  she 
added :  "  Why  don't  he  come  in  ?  Don't  he  know 
enough  to  come  in  out  of  the  rain?" 

"Well,  Miss  Edie,  he's  kind  o'  quar,"  said 
Hannibal,  "  I'se  jes  done  satisfied  he's  quar.' 


EDITH  BECOMES  A  "  DIVINITY."  165 

But  the  shower  ceased  suddenly,  and  Ardcn 
dismounted,  secured  his  horses,  and  soon  appeared 
at  the  door  with  a  piece  of  furniture. 

"  Why  it's  not  wet,"  said  Edith  with  surprise. 

"  I  saw  appearances  of  rain,  and  so  borrowed  a 
piece  of  canvas  at  the  dock." 

"  But  you  didn't  put  the  canvas  over  yourself," 
said  Edith,  looking  at  his  dripping  form,  grateful 
enough  now  to  bestow  a  little  kindness  without 
the  idea  of  policy.  "  As  soon  as  you  have  brought 
in  the  load  I  insist  on  your  staying  and  taking  a 
cup  of  tea." 

He  gave  his  shoulders  an  indifferent  shrug  say- 
ing, "  a  little  cold  water  is  the  least  of  my  troub- 
les." Then  he  added,  stealing  a  timid  glance  at 
her,  "  but  you  are  very  kind.  People  seldom  think 
of  their  teamsters. " 

"  The  more  shame  to  them  then,"  said  Edith. 
"  I  at  least  can  feel  a  kindness  if  I  can't  make 
much  return.  It  was  very  good  of  you  to  protect 
my  furniture  and  I  appreciate  your  care.  Besides 
your  mother  and  sister  have  been  helping  me  all 
the  afternoon,  and  I  am  oppressed  by  my  obliga- 
tions to  you  all." 

"  I  am  sorry  you  feel  that  way,"  he  said  briefly, 
and  vanished  in  the  darkness  after  another  load. 

Soon  all  was  safely  housed,  and  he  said,  about 
to  depart,  "  There  is  one  more  load  ;  I  will  bring 
that  to-morrow." 

From  the  fire  she  called,  '•  Stay,  your  tea  will 
be  read)  ir.  a  moment." 


166  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DO  t 

"Do  not  put  yourself  to  that  trouble,"  he 
answered,  at  the  same  time  longing  to  stay. 
"  Mother  will  have  supper  ready  forme."  He  was 
so  diffident  that  he  needed  much  encouragement, 
and  moreover,  he  was  morbidly  sensitive. 

But  as  she  turned,  she  caught  his  wistful  glance, 
and  thought  to  herself,  "  Poor  fellow,  he's  cold 
and  hungry."  With  feminine  shrewdness  she  said, 
"  Now  Mr.  Lacey,  I  shall  feel  slighted  if  you  don't 
take  a  cup  of  my  tea,  for  see,  I  have  made  it  my- 
self. It's  the  one  thing  about  housekeeping  that 
I  understand.  Your  mother  brought  me  a  nice 
cup  at  noon,  and  I  enjoyed  it  very  much.  I  am 
going  to  pay  that  debt  now  to  you." 

"  Well — if  you  really  wish  it" — said  Arden 
hesitatingly,  with  another  of  his  bright  looks,  and 
color  even  deeper  than  the  ruddy  firelight  war- 
ranted. 

"  My  conscience !"  thought  Edith,  "  how  sud- 
denly his  face  changes.  He  is  'quar'  as  Hannibal 
says."  But  she  settled  matters  by  saying,  "  I 
shall  feel  hurt  if  you  don't.  You  must  let  there 
be  at  least  some  show  of  kindness  on  my  part,  as 
well  as  yours  and  your  friends." 

There  came  in  again  a  delicate  touch  of  that 
human  fellowship  which  he  had  never  found  in  the 
world,  and  had  seemingly  repelled,  but  which  his 
soul  was  thirsting  for  with  an  intensity  never  so 
realized  before,  and  this  faintest  semblance  of 
human  companionship  and  sympathy,  seemed  in- 
expressibly sweet  to  his  sore  and  lonely  heart. 


EDITH  BECOMES  A  "  DIVfNIT  Y."  167 

He  took  the  cup  from  her  as  if  it  had  been  a 
sacrament,  and  was  about  to  drink  it  standing,  but 
she  placed  a  chair  at  the  table  and  said, — 

"  No,  sir,  you  must  sit  down  there  in  comfort 
by  the  fire." 

He  did  so  as  if  in  a  dream.  The  whole  scene 
was  taking  a  powerful  hold  on  his  imagination. 

"  Hannibal,"  she  cried,  raising  her  voice  in  a 
soft,  birdlike  call,  and  from  the  dim  kitchen  whence 
certain  spluttering  sounds  had  preceded  him,  Han- 
nibal appeared  with  a  heaping  plate  of  buttered 
toast. 

"  With  your  permission,"  she  said,  "  I  will  sit 
down  and  take  a  cup  of  tea  with  you,  in  a  neigh- 
borly way,  for  I  wish  to  ask  you  some  more  ques- 
tions, and  tea,  you  know,  is  a  great  incentive  to 
talk,"  and  she  took  a  chair  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  table,  while  Hannibal  stood  a  little  in  the  back 
ground  to  wait  on  them  with  all  the  formality  of 
olden  time. 

The  wood  fire  blazed  and  crackled,  and  thre\> 
its  flickering  light  over  Edith's  fair  face,  and  inten- 
sified her  beauty,  as  her  features  gleamed  out,  or 
faded,  as  the  flames  rose  and  fell.  Hannibal  stood 
motionless  behind  her  chair  as  if  he  might  have 
been  an  Ethiopian  slave  attendant  on  a  young  sul- 
tana. To  Arden's  aroused  imagination,  it  seemed 
like  one  of  the  scenes  of  his  fancy,  and  he  was 
almost  afraid  to  move  or  speak,  lest  all  should  van- 
ish, and  he  find  himself  plodding  along  the  dark 
muddy  road. 


168  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DOt 

"  What  is  the  matter  ? "  she  asked  curiously. 
"  Why  don't  you  drink  your  tea  ?'' 

"  It  all  seems  as  strange  and  beautiful  as  a  fairy 
tale/'  he  said  in  a  low  tone,  looking  at  her  earn- 
estly. 

Her  hearty  laugh  and  matter-of-fact  tone  dis- 
pelled his  illusion,  as  she  said, — 

"  It's  all  dreadfully  real  to  me.  I  feel  as  if  I  had 
done  more  work  to-day  than  in  all  my  life  before, 
and  we  have  only  made  a  beginning.  I  want  to  ask 
you  about  the  place  and  the  garden,  and  how  to 
get  things  done,"  and  she  plied  him  well  with  the 
most  practical  questions. 

Sometimes  he  answered  a  little  incoherently  fof 
through  them  all  he  saw  a  face  full  of  strange  weird 
beauty,  as  the  firelight  flickered  upon  it,  and  gave  a 
star-like  lustre  to  the  large  dark  eyes. 

Hannibal  in  the  background,  grinned  and 
chuckled  to  himself,  as  he  saw  Arden's  dazed  won- 
dering admiration,  saying  to  himself,  "  Dey  ain't 
used  to  such  young  ladies  as  mine,  up  here — it  kind 
o'  dazzles  'em." 

At  last  as  if  breaking  away  from  the  influence  of 
a  spell,  Arden  suddenly  rose,  turning  upon  Edith 
one  of  those  warm  bright  looks,  that  he  sometimes 
gave  his  mother,  and  said,  "  You  have  been  very 
kind,  good-night,"  and  was  gone  in  a  moment.  But 
the  night  was  luminous  about  him.  Along  the 
muddy  road,  in  the  old  shackly  barn  as  he  cared 
for  his  horses,  in  his  poor  little  room  at  home,  to 
which  he  soon  retired,  he  saw  only  the  fair  face  of 


EDITH  BECOMES  A  "DIVINITY."  169 

Edith,  with  the  firelight  playing  upon  it,  with  the 
vividness  of  one  looking  directly  upon  an  exquisite 
cabinet  picture,  and  before  that  picture  his  heart 
was  inclined  to  bow,  in  the  most  devoted  homage. 

Edith's  only  comment  was,  "  He  is  '  quar"  Han- 
nibal, as  you  said/' 

Wearied  with  Ihe  long  day's  work,  she  soon 
found  welcome  and  dreamless  rest- 
8 


CHAPTER  XI. 

MRS.  ALLEN'S  POLICY. 

T^RUE  to  her  promise,  Rose  helped  Edith  all  the 
next  day,  and  while  she  worked,  the  frank- 
hearted  girl  poured  out  the  story  of  her  troubles, 
and  Edith  came  to  have  a  greater  respect  and  sym- 
pathy for  her  "  kind  and  humble  neighbors"  as  she 
characterized  them  in  her  own  mind.  Still  with 
her  familiarity  with  the  farming  class,  kept  up 
since  her  summer  in  the  country  as  a  child,  she 
made  a  broad  distinction  between  them  and  the 
mere  laborer.  Moreover  the  practical  girl  wished 
to  conciliate  the  Laceys  and  eveiy  one  else  she 
could,  for  she  had  a  presentiment  that  there  were 
many  trials  before  them,  and  that  they  would  need 
friends.  She  said  in  answer  to  Rose, — 

"  I  never  realized  before  that  the  world  was  so 
full  of  trouble.  We  have  seen  plenty  of  late." 

"One  can  bear  any  kind  of  trouble  better  than 
a  daily  shame,"  said  Rose  bitterly. 

For  some  unexplained  reason  Edith  thought 
of  Zell  and  Mr.  Van  Dam  with  a  sudden  pang. 

Arden  brought  his  last  load  and  watched  eager- 
ly for  her  appearance,  fearing  that  there  might  be 
some  great  falling  off  in  the  vision  of  the  past 
evening. 


MRS.  ALLEN'S  POLICY.  j^I 

But  to  his  eyes  the  girl  he  was  learning  to  glo- 
rify, presented  as  fair  an  exterior  in  the  garish  day, 
and  the  reality  of  her  beauty  became  a  fixed  fact 
in  his  consciousness,  and  his  fancy  had  already  be- 
gun to  endow  her  with  angelic  qualities.  With 
all  her  vanity,  even  sorrowful  Edith  would  have 
laughed  heartily  at  his  ideal  of  her.  It  was  one  of 
the  hardest  ordeals  of  his  life  to  take  the  money 
she  paid  him,  and  she  saw  and  wondered  at  his 
repugnance. 

"  You  will  never  get  rich,"  she  said,  "  if  you  are 
so  prodigal  in  work,  and  spare  in  your  charges." 

"  I  would  rather  not  take  anything,"  he  said 
dubiously  holding  the  money,  as  if  it  were  a  coal 
of  fire,  between  his  thumb  and  finger. 

"Then  I  must  find  some  one  who  will  do  busi- 
ness on  business  principles,"  she  said  coldly.  "  If 
the  fellow  has  any  sentimental  nonsense  about 
him,  I'll  soon  cure  that,"  she  thought. 

Arden  colored,  thrust  his  money  carelessly  into 
his  pocket  as  if  it  were  of  no  account,  and  said 
briefly,  "  Good  morning." 

But  when  alone  he  put  the  money  in  the  inner- 
most part  of  his  pocketbook,  and  when  his  father 
asked  him  for  some  of  it,  he  sternly  answered, — 

"  No  sir,  not  a  cent."  Nor  did  he  spend  it 
himself;  why  he  kept  it,  could  scarcely  have  been 
explained.  He  was  simply  acting  according  to  the 
impulses  of  a  morbid  romantic  nature  that  had  been 
suddenly  and  deeply  impressed.  The  mother's 
quick  eye  detected  a  change  in  him  and  she  asked,— 


»72  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOt 

"  What  do  you  think  of  our  new  neighbor?" 

"  Mother,''  said  he  fervently,  "  she  is  an  angel.*1 

"  My  poor  boy,"  said  she  anxiously,  "  take  care. 
Don't  let  your  fancy  run  away  with  you." 

"Oh,"  said  he  with  assumed  indifference,  "  one 
can  have  a  decided  opinion  of  a  good  thing  as  well 
as  a  bad  thing,  without  making  a  fool  of  oneself." 

But  the  mother  saw  with  a  half  jealous  pang 
that  her  son's  heart  was  awaking  to  a  new  and 
stronger  love  than  her  own. 

Mrs.  Allen  with  Zell  and  Laura  were  to  come 
by  the  boat  that  evening,  and  Edith's  heart  yearned 
after  them  as  her  kindred.  Now  that  she  had  had 
a  little  experience  of  loneliness  and  isolation,  she 
deeply  regretted  her  former  harshness  and  impa- 
tience, saying  to  herself,  "  It  is  harder  for  them 
than  for  me.  They  don't  like  the  country,  and 
don't  care  anything  about  a  garden,"  and  she  pur- 
posed to  be  very  gentle  and  long  suffering. 

If  good  resolutions  were  only  accomplished  cer- 
tainties as  soon  as  made,  how  different  life  would  be  ! 

Arden  had  ordered  a  close  carriage  that  she 
might  go  down  and  meet  them,  and  had  agreed  to 
bring  up  their  trunks  and  boxes  in  his  large  wagon. 

The  boat  fortunately  landed  under  the  clear 
starlight  on  this  occasion,  and  feeble  Mrs.  Allen 
was  soon  seated  comfortably  in  the  carriage.  But 
her  every  breath  was  a  sigh,  and  she  regarded  the 
martyrs  as  a  favored  class  in  comparison  with  her- 
self. Laura  still  had  her  look  of  dreary  apathy; 
but  Zell's  face  wore  an  expression  of  interest  in  the 


AfXS.  ALLEN'S  POLICY.  173 

new  scenes  and  experiences,  and  she  plied  Edith 
with  many  questions  as  she  rode  homeward.  Mrs. 
Allen  brought  a  servant  up  with  her  who  was  con- 
demned to  ride  with  Arden,  much  to  their  mutual 
disgust. 

"  Oh  dear,"  sighed  Edith  as  they  rode  along. 
"  It's  a  dreadful  come  down  for  us  all  and  I  don't 
know  how  you  are  going  to  stand  it,  mother." 

Mrs.  Allen's  answer  was  a  long  unspeakable  sigh. 

When  she  reached  the  house  and  entered  the 
room  where  supper  was  awaiting  them,  she  glanced 
around  as  a  prisoner  might  on  being  thrust  into  a 
cell  in  which  years  must  be  spent,  and  then  she 
dropped  into  a  chair  sobbing. 

"  How  different — how  different  from  all  my 
past ! "  and  for  a  few  moments  they  all  cried  to- 
gether. As  with  Edith  at  first,  so  now  again  the 
new  home  was  baptized  with  tears  as  if  dedicated 
to  sorrow  and  trouble. 

Edith  then  led  them  up  stairs  to  take  off  their 
things,  and  Mrs.  Allen  had  a  fresh  outburst  of 
sorrow  as  she  recognized  the  contrast  between  this 
bare  little  chamber  and  her  luxurious  sleeping 
apartment  and  dressing-room  in  the  city.  Laura 
soon  regained  her  air  of  weary  indifference,  but 
Zell,  hastily  throwing  off  her  wraps,  came  down  to 
explore,  and  question  Hannibal. 

"  Bress  you,  chile,  it  does  my  eyes  good  to  see 
you  all,  ony  you'se  inusn't  take  on  as  if  we'se  all 
dyin'  with  slow  'sumption." 

Zell  put  her  hand  on  the  black's  shoulder  and 


174  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DO 

looked  up  into  his  face  with  a  wondei fully  gentle 
and  grateful  expression,  saying, — 

"  You  are  as  good  as  gold,  Hannibal.  I  am  so 
glad  you  stayed  with  us,  for  you  seem  like  one  of 
the  best  bits  of  our  old  home.  Never  mind,  I'll 
have  a  grander  house  again  soon  and  you  shall 
have  a  stiffer  necktie  and  higher  collar  than  ever." 

"  Bress  you,"  said  Hannibal  with  moist  eyes, 
"  it  does  my  ole  black  heart  good  to  hear  you. 
But  Miss  Zell,  I  say,"  he  added  in  a  loud  whisper, 
"  when  is  it  gwine  to  be  ? '' 

"Oh!"  said  poor  Zell,  asked  for  definiteness, 
"Some  day,"  and  she  passed  into  the  large  room 
where  Arden  was  just  setting  down  a  trunk. 

"  Don't  leave  it  there  in  the  middle  of  the 
floor,"  she  said  sharply.  "  Take  it  up  stairs." 

Arden  suddenly  straightened  himself  as  if  he 
had. received  a  slight  cut  from  a  whip,  and  turned 
his  sullen  face  full  on  Zell,  and  it  seemed  veiy 
repulsive  to  the  imperious  little  lady. 

"  Don't  you  hear  me  ? ''  she  asked  sharply. 

4i  Perhaps  it  would  be  well  for  you  not  to  ask 
favors  of  your  neighbors  in  that  tone,"  he  replied 
curtly. 

Edith,  coming  down,  saw  the  situation  and  said 
with  oil  in  her  voice,  "  You  must  excuse  my  sis- 
ter, Mr.  Lacey.  She  does  not  know  who  you  are. 
Hannibal  will  assist  with  the  trunks  if  you  will  be 
so  kind  as  to  take  them  up  stairs." 

"  She  is  different  from  the  rest,"  thought  Arden, 
readily  complying  with  her  request. 


MXS.  ALLEYS  POLICY.  175 

But  Zell  said  as  she  turned  away,  loud  enough 
for  him  to  hear :  "  What  airs  these  common  coun 
try  people  do  put  on  ! "  Zell  might  have  loaded 
Arden's  wagon  with  gold,  and  he  would  not  have 
lifted  a  finger  for  her  after  that.  If  he  had  known 
that  Edith's  kindness  had  been  half  policy,  his  face 
would  have  been  more  sullen  and  forbidding  than 
ever.  But  she  dwelt  glorified  and  apart  in  his 
consciousness,  and  if  she  could  only  maintain  that 
ideal  supremacy,  he  would  be  her  slave.  But  in 
his  morbid  sensitiveness  she  would  have  to  be  very 
careful.  The  practical  girl  at  this  time  did  not 
dream  of  his  fanciful  imagining  about  her,  but  she 
was  bent  on  securing  friends  and  helpers,  however 
humble  might  be  their  station,  and  she  had  shrewd- 
ly and  quickly  learned  how  to  manage  Arden. 

The  next  day  was  spent  by  the  family  in  get- 
ting settled  in  their  narrow  quarters,  and  a  dreary 
time  they  had  of  it.  It  was  a  long  rainy  day,  and 
the  roof  leaked  badly,  and  every  element  of  dis- 
comfort seemed  let  loose  upon  them. 

Her  mother  had  a  nervous  headache,  and  one 
of  her  worst  touches  of  dyspepsia,  and  Zell  and 
Laura  were  so  weary  and  out  of  sorts  that  little 
could  be  accomplished.  Between  the  tears  and 
sighs  within,  and  the  dripping  rain  without,  Edith 
looked  back  on  the  first  two  days  when  the  Laceys 
were  helping  her,  as  bright  in  contrast.  But  Mrs. 
Allen  was  already  worrying  over  the  Laceys'  con- 
nection with  their  settlement  in  the  neighborhood. 

"  We  shall  be  associated  with  these  low  people," 


Ijb  WHAT  CAX  SHE  DOt 

said  she  to  Edith  querulously.  "  Your  first  acquaint* 
ances  in  a  new  place,  are  of  great  importance." 

Edith  was  not  ready  for  any  such  association, 
and  she  felt  that  there  was  force  in  her  mother'§ 
words.  She  had  thought  of  the  Laceys  chiefly  in 
the  light  of  their  usefulness. 

She  was  glad  when  the  long  miserable  day  came 
to  a  close,  and  welcomed  the  bright  sunniness  of 
the  following  morning,  hoping  it  would  dispel  some 
of  the  gloom  that  seemed  gathering  round  them 
more  thickly  than  ever. 

After  discussing  a  rather  meagre  breakfast,  for 
Hannibal's  materials  were  running  low,  Edith  push- 
ed back  her  chair,  and  said, — 

"  I  move  we  hold  a  council  of  war,  and  look  the 
situation  in  the  face.  We  are  here,  and  we've  got 
to  live  here.  Now  what  shall  we  do  ?  I  suppose 
we  must  go  to  work  at  something  that  will  bring  in 
money." 

"  Go  to  work,  and  for  money !  '*  said  Mrs.  Al- 
len sharply  from  her  cushioned  arm-chair.  "  I  hope 
we  haven't  ceased  to  be  ladies.'5 

"  But,  mother,  we  can't  live  forever  on  the  ti- 
tle. The  '  butchers,  bakers,  and  candlestick-mak- 
ers, won't  supply  us  long  on  that  ground.  What 
did  the  lawyer,  who  settled  father's  estate,  say  be- 
fore you  left  ?" 

"  Well,  replied  Mrs.  Allen  vaguely,  he  said  he 
had  placed  to  our  credit  in  —  Bank,  what  there  was 
left,  and  he  gave  me  a  check-book  and  talked  econ-« 
omy  as  men  always  do.  Your  poor  father,  aftef 


MRS.  ALLEIfS  POLICY.  \fj 

losing  hundreds  at  the  club,  would  talk  economy 
the  next  morning,  in  the  most  edifying  way.  He 
also  said  that  there  was  some  of  that  hateful  stock 
remaining  that  ruined  your  father,  but  that  it  was 
of  uncertain  value,  and  he  could  not  tell  how  much 
it  would  realize,  but  he  would  sell  it  and  place  the 
proceeds  also  to  our  credit.  It  will  amount  to  con- 
siderable, I  think,  and  it  may  rise." 

"  Now  girls,"  continued  Mrs.  Allen,  settling  her- 
self  back  among  the  cushions,  and  resting  the  fore- 
finger of  her  right  hand  impressively  on  the  palm 
of  the  left,  "  this  is  the  proper  line  of  policy  for  us 
to  pursue.  I  hope  in  all  these  strange  changes,  I 
am  still  mistress  of  my  own  family.  You  certainly 
don't  think  that  I  expect  to  stay  in  this  miserable 
hovel  all  my  life.  If  you  two  girls,  Laura  and 
Edith,  had  made  the  matches  you  might,  we  would 
still  be  living  on  the  Avenue.  But  I  certainly  can- 
not permit  you  now  to  spoil  every  chance  of  get- 
ting out  of  this  slough.  You  may  not  be  able  to 
do  as  well  as  you  could  have  done,  but  if  you  are 
once  called  working  girls,  what  can  you  do  ? 

In  the  first  place  we  must  go  into  the  best  society 
of  this  town.  Our  position  warrants  it  of  course. 
Therefore,  for  heaven's  sake  don't  let  it  get  abroad 
that  we  are  associating  with  these  drunken  La- 
ceys."  (Mrs.  Allen  in  her  rapid  generalization 
might  give  the  impression  that  the  entire  family 
were  habitually  "  on  the  rampage,3'  and  Edith  re* 
membered  with  misgivings  that  she  had  drunk  tea 
with  Arden  Lacey  on  that  very  spot.)  "  More- 
s'* 


1^8  WHAT  CAN  t>HE  DOT 

over-"  continued  Mrs.  Allen,  "  there  is  a  large  sum* 
mer  hotel  near  here  and  '  my  friends'  have  prom- 
ised to  come  and  see  me  this  summer.  We  must 
try  to  present  an  air  of  pretty  rural  elegance,  and 
your  young  gentlemen  fiiends  from  the  city  will 
soon  be  dropping  in.  Then  Gus  Elliot  and  Mr 
Van  Dam  continue  very  kind  and  cordial,  I  am  sure. 
Zell,  though  so  young,  may  soon  become  engaged 
to  Mr.  Van  Dam,  and  it's  said,  he  is  very  rich — " 

"  I  can't  get  up  much  faith  in  these  two  men,'1 
interrupted  Edith,  "  and  as  for  Gus,  he  can't  sup- 
port himself." 

"  I  hope  you  don't  put  Gus  Elliot  and  my 
friend  on  the  same  level,"  said  Zell  indignantly. 

"  I  don't  know  where  to  put  '  your  friend,'  " 
said  Edith  curtly.  "Why  don't  he  speak  out? 
Why  don't  he  do  something  open,  manly,  and  de- 
cided ?  It  seems  as  if  he  can  see  nothing  and 
think  of  nothing  but  your  pretty  face.  If  he  would 
become  engaged  to  you  and  frankly  take  the  place  of 
lover  and  brother,  he  might  be  of  the  greatest  help 
to  us.  But  what  has  he  done  since  father's  death 
but  pet  and  flatter  you  like  an  infatuated  old — " 

"Hush!"  cried    Zell,  blazing   with   anger   and 
starting  up,  "  no  one  shall  speak  so  of  him.     What 
-more  has  Gus  Elliot  done?  " 

"  He  has  been  useful  as  my  errand  bey,"  said 
Edith  contemptuously,  "and  that's  all  he  amounts 
to  as  far  as  I'm  concerned.  I  am  disgusted  with 
men.  Who  in  all  our  trouble  has  been  noble  and 
knightly  toward  us? — " 


MKS.  ALLEN'S  POLICY. 


179 


44  Be  still,  children,  stop  your  quarreling,'  broke 
in  Mrs.  Allen.  "You  have  got  to  take  the  world 
as  you  find  it.  Men  of  our  day  don't  act  like 
knights  any  more  than  they  dress  like  them.  The 
point  I  wish  you  to  understand  is  that  we  must 
keep  every  hold  we  have  on  our  old  life  and  society. 
Next  winter  some  of  my  friends  will  invite  you  to 
visit  them  in  the  city  and  then  who  knows  what 
may  happen"  —  and  she  nodded  significantly. 
Then  she  added,  with  a  regretful  sigh,  "  What 
chances  you  girls  have  had.  There's  Cheatem, 
Argent,  Livingston,  Pamby,  and  last  and  best, 
Goulden,  who  might  have  been  secured  if  Laura 
had  been  more  prompt,  and  a  host  of  others. 
Edith  had  better  have  taken  Mr.  Fox  even,  than 
have  had  all  this  happen." 

An  expression  of  disgust  came  out  on  Edith's 
face,  and  she  said,  "  It  seems  to  me  that  1  would 
rather  go  to  work  than  take  any  of  them." 

"  You  don't  know  anything  about  work,'*  said 
Mrs.  Allen.  "  It's  a  great  deal  easier  to  marry  a 
fortune  than  to  make  one,  and  a  woman  can't  make 
a  fortune.  Marrying  well  is  the  only  chance  you 
girls  have  now,  and  it's  my  only  chance  to  live 
again  as  a  lady  ought,  and  I  want  to  see  to  it  that 
nothing  is  done  to  spoil  these  chances/' 

Laura  listened  with  a  dull  assent,  conscious 
that  she  would  marry  any  man  now  who  would 
give  "her  an  establishment  and  enable  her  to  sweep 
past  Mr.  Goulden  in  elegant  scprn.  Zell  listened, 
purposing  to  marry  Mr.  Van  Dam  though  Edith's 


l8o  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOt 

words  raised  a  vague  uneasiness  in  her  mind,  and 
she  longed  to  see  him  again,  meaning  to  make  him 
more  definite.  Edith  listened  with  a  cooling  ad* 
herence  to  this  familiar  faith  and  doctrine  of  the 
world  in  which  the  mother  had  brought  up  her 
children.  She  had  a  glimmering  perception  that 
the  course  indicated  was  not  sound  in  general,  nor 
best  for  them  in  particular. 

"  And  now,"  continued  Mrs.  Allen,  becoming 
more  definite,  "  we  must  have  a  new  roof  put  on 
the  house  right  away,  or  we  will  all  be  drowned 
out,  and  the  house  must  be  painted,  a  door-bell  put 
in,  and  fences  and  things  generally  put  in  order. 
We  must  fit  this  room  up  as  a  parlor,  and  we  can 
use  the  little  room  there  as  a  dining  and  sitting 
room.  Laura  and  I  will  take  the  chamber  over 
the  kitchen,  and  the  one  over  this  can  be  kept  as  a 
spare  room,  so  that  if  any  of  our  city  friends  come 
out  to  see  us,  they  can  stay  all  night." 

"  O  mother,  the  proposed  arrangements  will 
make  us  all  uncomfortable,  you  especially,"  remon- 
strated Edith. 

"  No  matter,  I've  set  my  heart  on  our  getting 
back  to  the  old  life,  and  we  must  not  stop  at 
trifles." 

"  But  are  you  sure  we  have  money  to  spare  for 
all  these  improvements,''  continued  Edith  anx- 
iously. 

"Oh  yes,  I  think  so,"  said  Mrs.  Allen  indefi- 
nitely. "  And  as  your  poor  father  used  to  say,  to 
spend  money  is  often  the  best  way  to  get  money." 


MRS.  ALLEYS  POLICY.  jgi 

"  Well  mother,"  said  Edith  dubiously,  "  I  sup- 
pose you  know  best,  but  it  don't  look  very  clear  to 
me.  There  seems  nothing  definite  or  certain  that 
we  can  depend  on." 

"  Perhaps  not,  to-day,  but  leave  all  to  me. 
Some  one  will  turn  up,  who  will  fill  your  eye  and 
fill  your  hand,  and  what  more  could  you  ask  in  a 
husband?  But  you  must  not  be  too  fastidious. 
These  difficult  girls  are  sure  to  take  up  with 
'crooked  sticks'  at  last."  (Mrs.  Allen's  views  as  to 
straight  ones  were  not  original.)  "  Leave  all  to 
me.  I  will  tell  you  when  the  right  ones  turn  up." 


CHAPTER  XII. 

WAITING  FOR  SOME  ONE  TO  TURK  UP. 

A  ND  so  the  girls  were  condemned  tc  idleness 
and  ennui,  and  they  all  came  to  suffer  from 
these  as  from  a  dull  toothache,  especially  Laura  and 
Zell.  Edith  had  great  hopes  from  her  garden,  and 
saw  the  snow  finally  disappear  and  the  mud  dry  up, 
as  the  imprisoned  inmates  of  the  ark  might  have 
watched  the  abatement  of  the  waters. 

The  afternoon  of  the  council  wherein  Mrs.  Al- 
len had  marked  out  the  family  policy,  Edith  and 
Zell  walked  to  the  village,  and  going  to  one  of  the 
leading  stores,  made  arrangements  with  the  pro- 
prietor to  have  his  wagon  stop  daily  at  their  house 
for  orders.  They  also  asked  him  to  send  them  a 
carpenter.  They  made  these  requests  with  the 
manner  of  olden  time,  when  money  seemed  to  flow 
from  a  full  fountain,  and  the  man  was  very  polite, 
thinking  he  had  gained  profitable  customers. 

While  they  were  absent,  Rose  stepped  in  to 
see  if  she  could  be  of  any  further  help.  Mrs.  Al- 
len surmised  who  she  was  and  resolved  to  snub 
her  effectually.  To  Rose's  question  as  to  their 
need  of  assistance,  she  replied  frigidly  "  that  they 
had  two  servants  now,  and  did  not  wish  to  employ 
any  more  help." 


WAITING  FOR  SOME  ONE  TO  TURN  UP.     183 

Rose  colored,  bit  her  lip,  then  said  with  an 
open  smile, — 

"  You  are  under  mistake.  I  am  Miss  Lacey, 
and  helped  your  daughter  the  first  two  days  after 
she  came." 

"  Oh,  ah,  Miss  Lacey.  I  beg  your  pardon," 
said  Mrs.  Allen,  still  more  distantly.  "  My  daughter 
Edith  is  out.  Did  she  not  pay  you?" 

Rose's  face  became  scarlet,  and  rising  hastily 
she  said,  "Either  I  misunderstand,  or  am  greatly 
misunderstood.  Good  afternoon." 

Mrs.  Allen  slightly  inclined  her  head,  while 
Laura  took  no  notice  of  her  at  all.  When  she  was 
gone,  Mrs.  Allen  said  complaisantly,  "  I  think  we 
will  see  no  more  of  that  bold  faced  fly-away  crea- 
ture. The  idea  of  her  thinking  that  we  would  live 
on  terms  of  social  equality  with  them." 

Laura's  only  reply  was  a  yawn,  but  at  last  she 
got  up,  put  on  her  hat  and  shawl  and  went  out  to 
walk  a  little  on  the  porch.  Arden,  who  was  re- 
turning home  with  his  team,  stopped  a  moment 
to  inquire  if  there  was  anything  further  that  he 
could  do.  He  hoped  the  lady  he  saw  on  the  porch 
was  Edith,  and  the  wish  to  see  her  again  led  him 
to  think  of  any  excuse  that  would  take  him  to  the 
house. 

As  Laura  turned  to  come  toward  him,  he  sur- 
mised that  it  was  another  sister,  and  was  disap- 
pointed and  embarrassed,  but  it  was  too  late  to 
turn  back,  though  she  scarcely  appeared  to  heed 
him. 


1 84  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DO? 

"  I  called  to  ask  Miss  Edith  if  I  could  do  any- 
thing more  that  would  be  of  help  to  her,"  he  said 
diffidently. 

Giving  him  a  cold  careless  glance,  Laura  said, 
"  I  believe  my  sister  wants  some  work  done 
around  the  house  before  long.  I  will  tell  her  that 
you  were  here  looking  for  employment,  and  I  have 
no  doubt  she  will  send  for  you  if  she  needs  your  ser- 
vices," and  Laura  turned  her  back  on  him  and 
continued  her  walk. 

He  whirled  about  on  his  heel  as  if  she  had 
struck  him,  and  when  he  got  home  his  mother 
noted  that  his  face  looked  more  black  and  sullen 
than  she  had  ever  seen  it  before.  Rose  was  open 
and  strong  in  her  indignation,  saying: 

"  Fine  neighbors  you  have  introduced  us  to  1 
Nice  return  they  make  for  all  our  kindness ;  not 
that  I  begrudge  it.  But  I  hate  to  see  people  get 
all  out  of  you  they  can,  and  then  about  the  same 
as  slap  your  face  and  show  you  the  door." 

"Did  you  see  Miss  Edith?"  asked  Arden 
quickly. 

"  No,  I  saw  the  old  lady  and  a  proud  pale-faced 
girl  who  took  no  more  notice  of  me  than  if  I  had 
come  for  cold  victuals." 

"  I  suppose  they  have  heard,"  said  Arden 
dejectedly. 

"They  have  heard  nothing  against  me,  nor 
you,  nor  mother,"  said  Rose  hotly  "  If  I  ever 
see  that  Miss  Edith  again,  I  will  give  her  a  piece 
of  my  mind." 


WAITING  FOR  SOME  ONE  TO  TURN  UP.     185 

"  You  will  please  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  said 
her  brother.  "  She  has  not  turned  her  back  on 
you.  Wait  till  she  does.  We  are  the  last  people 
to  condemn  one  for  the  sake  of  another." 

"  I  guess  they  are  all  alike  ;  but  as  you  say, 
it's  fair  to  give  her  a  chance,"  answered  Rose 
quietly. 

With  his  habit  of  reticence  he  said  nothing 
about  his  own  experience.  But  it  was  a  cruel 
shock  that  those  connected  with  the  one  who  was 
becoming  the  inspiration  of  his  dreams,  should  be 
so  contemptible  as  he  regarded  them,  and  as  we 
are  all  apt  to  regard  those  who  treat  us  with  con- 
tempt. His  faith  in  her  was  also  shaken,  and  he 
resolved  that  she  must  "send  for  him,"  feeling 
her  need,  before  he  would  go  near  her  again. 
But  after  all,  his  ardent  fancy  began  to  paint  her 
more  gentle  and  human  on  the  back-ground  of 
the  narrow  pride  shown  by  the  others.  He  longed 
for  some  absolute  proof  that  she  was  what  he  be- 
lieved her,  but  was  too  proud  to  put  himself  in 
the  way  of  receiving  it. 

When  Edith  heard  how  the  Lacey  acquaint- 
ance had  been  nipped  in  the  bud,  she  said  with 
honest  shame,  "  It's  too  bad,  after  all  their  kind- 
ness." 

"  It  was  the  only  thing  to  be  done,'*  said  Mrs. 
Allen.  "  It  is  better  for  such  people  to  talk  against 
you,  than  to  be  claiming  you  as  neighbors,  and  all 
that.  It  would  give  us  a  very  bad  flavor  with  the 
best  people  of  the  town.'* 


186  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOf 

"  I  only  wish  then,"  said  Edith,  "  that  I  had  never 
let  them  do  anything  for  me.  I  shall  hate  to  meet 
them  again,"  and  she  sedulously  avoided  them. 

The  next  day  a  carpenter  appeared  after  break, 
fast,  and  seemed  the  most  affably  suggestive  man 
in  the  world.  "  Of  course  he  would  carry  out  Mrs. 
Allen's  wishes  immediately,"  and  he  showed  her 
several  other  improvements  that  might  be  made  at 
the  same  time,  and  which  would  cost  but  little 
more  while  they  were  about  it. 

"But  how  much  will  it  cost?"  asked  Edith 
directly. 

"  Oh  well,"  said  the  man  vaguely,  "  it's  hard  to 
estimate  on  this  kind  of  jobbing  work."  Then 
turning  to  Mrs.  Allen,  he  said  with  great  deference, 
"  I  assure  you,  madam,  I  will  do  it  well,  and  be 
just  as  reasonable  as  possible." 

"  Certainly,  certainly,"  said  Mrs.  Allen  majes- 
tically, pleased  with  the  deference,  "  I  suppose  that 
is  all  we  ought  to  ask.'' 

"  I  think  there  ought  to  be  something  more 
definite  as  to  price  and  time  of  completing  the  work," 
still  urged  Edith. 

"  My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Allen  with  depressing 
dignity,  "  pray  leave  these  matters  to  me.  It  is  not 
expected  that  a  young  lady  like  yourself  should 
understand  them." 

Mrs.  Allen  had  become  impressed  with  the  idea 
that  if  they  ever  reached  the  haven  of  Fifth  Avenue 
again,  she  must  take  the  helm  and  steer  their  storm- 
tossed  bark.  As  we  have  seen  before,  she  was 


WAITING  FOR  SOME  ONE  TO  TURN  UP.    18; 

capable  of  no  small  degree  of  exertion  when  the 
motive  was  to  attain  position  and  supremacy  in  the 
fashionable  world.  She  was  great  in  one  direction 
only — the  one  to  which  she  had  been  educated,  and 
to  which  she  devoted  her  energies. 

The  man  chuckled  as  he  went  away.  "  Lucky 
I  had  to  deal  with  the  old  fool  rather  than  that 
sharp  black-eyed  girl.  By  jove  !  but  they  are  a 
handsome  lot  though ;  only  they  look  like  the 
houses  we  build  nowadays — more  paint  and  finish 
than  solid  timber." 

The  next  day  there  were  three  or  four  mechan- 
ics at  work  and  the  job  was  secured.  The  day  fol- 
lowing there  were  only  two,  and  the  next  day  none. 
Edith  sent  word  by  the  grocer,  asking  what  was 
the  matter.  The  following  day  one  man  appeared, 
and  on  being  questioned,  said  "  the  boss  was  veiy 
busy,  lots  of  jobs  on  hand." 

"  Why  did  he  take  our  work  then  ? "  asked 
Edith  indignantly. 

"  Oh,  as  to  that,  the  boss  takes  every  job  he 
can  get,"  said  the  man  with  a  grin. 

"Well,  tell  the  boss  I  want  to  see  him,"  she 
replied  sharply. 

The  man  chuckled  and  went  on  with  his  work 
in  a  snail-like  manner,  as  if  that  were  the  only  job 
"  the  boss1'  had,  or  was  like  to  have,  and  he  must 
make  the  most  of  it. 

The  house  was  hers,  and  Edith  felt  anxious 
about  it,  and  indeed  it  seemed  that  they  were 
going  to  great  expense  with  no  certain  retuin  in 


1 88  WffA T  CAN  SHE  DOT 

view.  That  night  one  corner  of  the  roof  was  left 
open  and  rain  came  in  and  did  considerable  dam« 
age. 

Loud  and  bitter  we're  the  complaints  of  the 
family,  but  Edith  said  little.  She  was  too  incensed 
to  talk  about  it.  The  next  day  it  threatened  rain 
and  no  mechanics  appeared.  Donning  her  water- 
proof and  thick  shoes,  she  was  soon  in  the  village, 
and  by  inquiry,  found  the  man's  shop.  He  saw 
her  coming  and  dodged  out. 

"Very  well,  I  will  wait,"  said  Edith,  sitting 
down  on  a  box. 

The  man  finding  she  would  not  go  away,  soon 
after  bustled  in,  and  was  about  to  be  very  polite, 
but  Edith  interrupted  him  with  a  question  that 
was  like  a  blow  between  the  eyes, — 

"  What  do  you  mean,  sir,  by  breaking  your 
word  ?  " 

"Great  press  of  work  just  now,  Miss  Allen — " 

"  That  is  not  the  question,"  interrupted  Edith, 
"you  said  you  would  do  our  work  immediately, 
you  took  it  with  that  distinct  understanding,  and  be- 
cause you  have  been  false  to  your  word,  we  have 
suffered  much  loss.  You  knew  the  roof  was  not  all 
covered.  You  knew  it,  when  it  rained  last  night, 
but  the  rain  did  not  fall  on  you,  so  I  suppose  you 
did  not  care.  But  is  a  person  who  breaks  his  word 
in  that  style  a  gentleman?  Is  he  even  a  man, 
when  he  breaks  it  to  a  lady,  who  has  no  brother  or 
husband  to  protect  her  interests?" 

The  man  became  very  red.     He  was  gccustonv 


WAITING  FOR  SOME  ONE  TO  TURN  UP.     189 

ed,  as  his  workman  said,  to  secure  every  job  he 
could,  then  divide  and  scatter  his  men  so  as  to 
keep  everything  going,  but  at  a  slow  aggravating 
rate,  that  wore  out  every  one's  patience,  save  his 
own.  He  was  used  to  the  annual  faultfinding  and 
grumbling  of  the  busy  season,  and  bore  it  as  he 
would  a  northeast  storm  as  a  disagreeable  necessity, 
and  quite  prided  himself  on  the  good-natured  equa- 
nimity with  which  he  could  stand  his  customers' 
scoldings  ;  and  the  latter  had  become  so  accustom- 
ed to  being  put  off  that  they  endured  it  also  as  they 
would  a  northeaster,  and  went  into  improvements 
and  building,  as  they  might  visit  a  dentist. 

But  when  Edith  turned  her  scornful  face,  and 
large  indignant  eyes  full  upon  him,  and  asked  prac- 
tically, what  he  meant  by  lying  to  her,  and  said 
that  to  treat  a  woman  so  proved  him  less  than  a 
man,  he  saw  his  habit  of  "  putting  off,"  in  a  new 
light.  At  first  he  was  a  little  inclined  to  bluster, 
but  Edith  interrupted  him  sharply, — 

"  I  wish  to  know  in  a  word  what  you  will  do. 
If  that  roof  is  not  completed  and  made  tight  to- 
day, I  will  put  the  matter  in  a  lawyer's  hands  and 
make  you  pay  damages.'' 

This  would  place  the  man  in  an  unpleasant 
business  aspect,  so  he  said  gruffly, — 

"  I  will  send  some  men  right  up." 

"  And  I  will  take  no  action  till  I  see  whethef 
they  come,"  said  Edith  significantly. 
_    They  came,  aad  in  a  few  days  the  work  was  all 
finished.     But  a  bill  double  the  amount  they  ex- 


I90  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DO? 

pected  came  promptly  also.    They  paid  no  atteiu 
tion  to  it. 

In  the  meantime  Edith  had  asked  the  village 
merchant,  who  supplied  them  with  provisions,  and 
who  had  also  become  a  sort  of  agent  for  them,  to 
send  a  man  to  plough  the  garden.  The  next  day  an 
old  slouchy  fellow  with  two  melancholy  shacks  of 
horses  that  might  well  tremble  at  the  caw  of  a  crow, 
was  scratching  the  garden  with  a  worn  out  plough 
when  she  came  down  to  breakfast.  He  had  al- 
ready made  havoc  in  the  flower  borders,  and  Edith 
was  disgusted  with  the  outward  aspect  of  himself 
and  team  to  begin  with.  But  when  in  her  morn- 
ing slippers  she  had  picked  her  way  daintily  to 
where  she  could  look  in  the  shallow  furrows,  her 
vexation  knew  no  bounds.  She  had  been  reading 
about  gardening  of  late,  and  she  had  carefully  no- 
ted how  all  the  writers  insisted  on  deep  ploughing 
and  the  thorough  loosening  of  the  soil.  This  man's 
furrows  did  not  average  six  inches,  and  with  a 
frowning  brow,  and  dress  gathered  up,  she  stood 
perched  on  a  little  stone  like  a  bird,  that  had  just 
alighted  with  ruffled  plumage,  while  Zeli  was  on 
the  porch  laughing  at  her.  The  mar  with  his 
shackly  team  soon  came  round  again  opposite  her, 
with  slow  automatic  motion  as  if  the  whole  thing 
was  one  crazy  piece  of  mechanism.  The  man's 
head  was  down  and  he  paid  no  heed  to  Edith. 
The  rim  of  his  old  hat  flapped  over  his  face,  the 
horses  jogged  on  with  drooping  head  and  ears,  as 
if  unable  to  hold  them  up,  and  all  seemed  going 


WAITING  FOR  SOAfE  ONE  TO  TURN  UP.     ig | 

down,  save  the  plough.  This  light  affair  skimmed 
and  scratched  along  the  ground  like  the  sharpened 
sticks  of  oriental  tillage. 

"  Stop  !  "  cried  Edith  sharply. 

"  Whoa  !  "  shouted  the  man,  and  he  turned  to- 
ward Edith  a  pair  of  watery  eyes,  and  a  face  that 
suggested  nothing  but  snuff. 

"  Who  sent  you  here  ? "  asked  Edith  in  the 
same  tone. 

"  Mr.  Hard,  mum."  (Mr.  Hard  was  the  mer- 
chant who  was  acting  as  their  agent.) 

"  Am  I  to  pay  you  for  this  work,  or  Mr.  Hard  ?  " 

"  I  guess  you  be,  mum." 

"  Who's  to  be  suited  with  this  work,  you,  Mr. 
Hard  or  I?" 

"  I  haint  thought  nothin'  about  that." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  it  makes  no  differ- 
ence whether  I  am  suited  or  not  ?  " 

"  What  yer  got  agin  the  work  ?  " 

"  I  want  my  garden  ploughed,  not  scratched 
You  don't  plough  half  deep  enough,  and  you  are 
injuring  the  shrubs,  and  flowers  in  the  borders." 

"  I  guess  I  know  more  about  ploughin'  than  you 
do.  Gee  up  thar  ! "  to  the  horses,  that  seemed  in- 
clined to  be  Edith's  allies  by  not  moving. 

"  Stop  !  "  she  cried,  "  I  will  not  pay  you  a  cent 
for  this  work,  and  wish  you  to  leave  this  garden 
instantly." 

"  Mr.  Hard  told  me  to  plough  this  garding  and 
I'm  agoin'  to  plough  it.  I  never  seed  the  day's  work 
I  didn't  git  paid  for  yit,  and  you'll  pay  for  this.  Git 


193     , 


WHAT  CAN  SHE  DO? 


up  thar,  you  cussed  old  critters,"  and  the  man  struck 
the  horses  sharply  with  a  lump  of  dirt.  Away  went 
the  crazy  rattling  old  automaton  round  and  round 
the  garden  in  spite  of  all  she  could  do. 

She  was  half  beside  herself  with  vexation  which 
was  increased  by  Zell's  convulsed  laughter  on  the 
porch,  but  she  stormed  at  the  old  ploughman  as 
vainly  as  a  robin  remonstrating  with  a  windmill. 

"  Mr.  Hard  told  me  to  plough  it,  and  I'm 
a-goin'  to  plough  it,"  said  the  human  phase  of  the 
mechanism  as  it  passed  again  where  Edith  stood 
without  stopping. 

Utterly  baffled,  Edith  rushed  into  the  house 
and  hastily  swallowed  a  cup  of  coffee.  She  was  too 
angry  to  eat  a  mouthful. 

Zell  followed  with  her  hand  upon  her  side  that 
was  aching  from  laughter,  and  as  soon  as  she  found 
her  voice  said, —  • 

"  It  was  one  of  the  most  touchingly  beautiful 
rural  scenes  I  ever  looked  upon.  I  never  had  so 
close  and  inspiring  a  view  of  one  of  the  "  sons  of 
the  soil"  before." 

"Yes,"  snapped  Edith,  "  he  is  literally  a  clod." 

11 1  can  readily  see,"  continued  Zell,  in  a  mock 
sentimental  tone, "  how  noble  and  refining  a  sphere 
the  "  garding"  (as  your  friend,  out  there,  terms  it) 
must  be,  even  for  women.  In  the  first  place  there 
are  your  associates  in  labor — " 

"Stop!"  interrupted  Edith  sharply.  "You 
all  leave  everything  for  me  to  do,  but  I  won't  be 
teased  and  tormented  in  the  bargain." 


WAITING  FOR  SOME  ONE  TO  TURN  UP. 


'93 


"  But  really,"  continued  the  incorrigible  Zell, 
*  I  have  been  so  much  impressed  by  the  first  scene 
in  the  creation  of  your  Eden,  which  I  have  just 
witnessed,  that  I  am  quite  impatient  for  the  second. 
It  may  be  that  our  sole  acquaintances  in  this 
delightful  rural  retreat,  the  '  drunken  Laceys/  as 
mother  calls  them,  will  soon  insist  on  becoming 
inspired  with  the  spirit  of  the  corn  they  raise  in 
our  arbor.'' 

Edith  sprang  up  from  the  table,  and  went  to 
her  room. 

"  Shame  on  you,  Zell,"  said  Mrs.  Allen  sharply, 
but  Laura  was  too  apathetic  to  scold. 

Impulsive  Zell  soon  relented,  and  when  Edith 
came  down  a  few  moments  later  in  walking  trim, 
and  with  eyes  swollen  with  unshed  tears,  Zell 
threw  her  arms  around  her  neck  and  said, — 

"  Forgive  your  naughty  little  sister." 

But  Edith  repulsed  her  angrily,  and  started  to- 
ward the  village. 

"  I  do  hate  to  see  people  sullenly  hoard  up 
things,5'  said  Zell  snappishly.  Then  she  dawdled 
about  the  house,  yawning  and  saying  fretfully,  "  I  do 
wish  I  knew  what  to  do  with  myself." 

Laura  reclined  on  the  sofa  with  a  novel,  but 
Zell  was  not  fond  of  reading.  Her  restless  nature 
craved  continual  activity  and  excitement,  but  it 
was  part  of  Mrs.  Allen's  policy  that  they  should  do 
nothing. 

"  Some  one  may  call,"  she  said,  "  and  we  must 
be  ready  to  receive  them,'3  but  at  that  season  of 
9 


I<j4  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DO  f 

the  year,  when  roads  were  muddy,  there  was  bat 
little  social  visiting  in  the  country. 

So,  consumed  with  ennui,  Zell  listened  to  the 
pounding  of  the  carpenters  overhead,  and  watched 
the  dogged  old  ploughman  go  round  the  small  gar- 
den till  it  was  all  scratched  over,  and  then  the 
whole  crazy  mechanism  rattled  off  to  parts  un- 
known. The  two  servants  did  not  leave  her  even 
the  resource  of  housework  of  which  she  was  natu- 
rally fond. 

Edith  went  straight  to  Mr.  Hard  and  was  so 
provoked  that  she  scarcely  avoided  the  puddles  in 
her  determined  haste. 

Mr.  Hard  looked  out  upon  his  customers  with 
cold  hard  little  eyes  that  changed  their  expression 
only  in  growing  more  cold  and  hard.  The  rest 
of  his  person  seemed  all  bows,  smirks  and  smiles, 
but  it  was  noticed  that  these  latter  diminished  and 
his  eyes  grew  harder  as  he  wished  to  remind  some 
lagging  patron  that  his  little  account  needed  set- 
tling. This  thrifty  citizen  of  Pushton  was  soon 
in  polite  attendance  on  Edith,  but  was  rather 
taken  back,  when  she  asked  sharply,  what  he 
meant  by  sending  such  a  good-for-nothing  man  to 
plough  her  garden. 

"  Well,  Miss  Allen,"  he  said,  his  eyes  growing 
harder  but  his  manner  more  polite,  "  Old  Gideon 
does  such  little  jobs  around,  and  I  thought  he  wag 
just  the  one." 

44  Does  he  plough  your  garden  ? "  asked  Edit* 
abruptly. 


WAITING  FOR  SOME  ONE  TO  TURN  UP. 


'95 


"  I  keep  a  gardener,"  said  Mn  Hard  with  some 
dignity. 

*'  I  believe  it  would  pay  me  to  do  the  same," 
said  Edith,  "  if  I  could  find  one  on  whom  I  could 
depend.  The  man  you  sent  was  very  impudent, 
I  told  him  the  work  didn't  suit  me — that  he  didn't 
plough  half  deep  enough,  and  that  he  must  leave. 
But  he  just  kept  right  on,  saying  you  sent  him, 
and  he  would  plough  it,  and  he  injured  my  flower- 
borders  besides.  Thereforb  he  must  look  to  you 
for  payment."  (Mr.  Hard's  eyes  grew  very  hard 
at  this.)  "  Because  I  am  a  woman  I  am  not  going 
to  be  imposed  upon.  Now  do  you  know  of  a  man 
who  can  really  plough  my  garden  ?  If  not,  I  must 
look  elsewhere.  I  had  hoped  when  you  took  our 
business  you  would  have  some  interest  in  seejng 
that  we  were  well  served." 

Mr.  Hard  with  eyes  like  two  flint  pebbles,  made 
a  low  bow  and  said  with  impressive  dignity: 

"  It  is  my  purpose  to  do  so.  There  is  Mr 
Skinner,  he  does  ploughing." 

"  I  don't  want  Mr.  Skinner,"  said  Edith  im- 
patiently, "  I  don't  like  his  name  in  reference  to 
ploughing." 

"  Oh,  ah !  excellent  reason,  very  good,  Miss 
Allen.  Well,  there's  Mr.  McTrump,  a  Scotchman, 
who  has  a  small  green-house  and  nursery,  he  looks 
after  gardens  for  some  people." 

"  I  will  go  and  see  him,"  said  Edith  taking  hi* 
address. 

As  she  plodded  off  to  find  his  place,  she  sighed 


Ig6  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOt 

*  Oh  dear  it's  dreadful  to  have  no  men  in  the  fam- 
ily That  Arden  Lacey  might  have  helped  me  so 
much,  if  mother  was  not  so  particular,  I  fear  we 
are  all  on  the  wrong  track,  throwing  away  substan- 
tial and  present  good  for  uncertainties." 

Mr.  McTrump  was  a  little  man  with  a  heavy 
sandy  beard,  and  such  thick  bushy  eyebrows  and 
hair,  that  he  reminded  Edith  of  a  Scotch  terrier. 
But  her  first  glance  around  convinced  her  that  he 
was  a  gardener.  Neatness,  order,  thrift,  impressed 
her  the  moment  she  opened  his  gate,  and  she  per- 
ceived that  he  was  already  quite  advanced  in  his 
spring  work.  Smooth  seed-sown  beds  were  emerg- 
ing from  winter's  chaos.  Crocuses  and  hyacinths 
were  in  bloom,  with  tulips  budding  after  them, 
and  on  a  sunny  slope  in  the  distance  she  saw 
long,  green  rows  of  what  seemed  some  growing 
crop.  She  determined  if  possible  to  make  this 
man  her  ally,  or  by  stratagem  to  gain  his  secret  of 
success. 

The  little  man  stood  in  the  door  of  his  green- 
house with  a  transplanting  trowel  in  his  hand. 
He  was  dressed  in  clay  colored  nankeen,  and  could 
get  down  in  the  dirt  without  seeming  to  get  dirty. 
His  small  eyes  twinkled  shrewdly,  but  not  unkind- 
ly as  she  advanced  toward  him.  He  was  fond  of 
flowers,  and  she  looked  like  one  herself  that  spring 
morning. 

"  I  was  directed  to  call  upon  you,"  she  said, 
with  conciliatory  politeness,  "understanding  that 
you  sometimes  assist  people  with  their  gardens." 


WAITING  FOR  SOME  ONE  TO  TURN  UP.      \Q] 

*'  Weel,  noo  and  then  I  do,  but  I  canna  give 
mooch  time  with  a'  my  ain  work." 

"  But  you  would  help  a  lady  who  has  no  one 
else  to  help  her,  wouldn't  you  ? "  said  Edith 
sweetly. 

Old  Malcom  was  not  to  be  caught  with  a  sugar- 
plum, so  he  said  with  a  little  Scotch  caution, — 

"  I  canna  vera  weel  say  till  I  hear  mair  aboot 
it." 

Edith  told  him  how  she  was  situated,  and  in 
view  of  her  perplexity  and  trouble,  her  voice  had  a 
little  appealing  pathos  in  it.  Malcom's  eyes 
twinkled  more  and  more  kindly,  and  as  he  explained 
afterwards  to  his  wife,  "  Her  face  was  sae  like  a 
pink  hyacinth  beent  doon  by  the  storm  and  a 
wantin  propin  oop,"  that  by  the  time  she  was  done 
he  was  ready  to  accede  to  her  wishes. 

"  Weel,"  said  he,  "  I  canna  refuse  a  blithe  young 
leddy  like  yoursel,  but  ye  must  let  me  have  my 
ain  way." 

Edith  was  inclined  to  demur  at  this,  for  she  had 
been  reading  up  and  had  many  plans  and  theories 
to  carry  out.  But  she  concluded  to  accept  the 
condition,  thinking  that  with  her  feminine  tact 
and  coaxing  she  would  have  her  own  way  after  all. 
She  d:,d  not  realize  that  she  was  dealing  with  a 
Scotchman. 

"  I'll  send  ye  a  mon  as  will  plow  the  garden  and 
not  scratch  it,  the  morrow,  God  willin,"  for  Mr. 
McTrump  was  a  very  pious  man,  his  only  fault  be« 
ing  that  he  would  take  a  drop  too  much  occasionally. 


198  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DO t 

"  May  I  stay  here  awhile  and  watch  you  work 
and  look  at  things  ?"  asked  Edith.  "  I  don't  want 
to  go  back  till  that  hateful  old  fellow  has  done  his 
mischief  and  is  gone." 

"Why  not?"  said  Malcom,  "  an  ye  don't  tech 
anything.  The  woman  folk  from  the  village  as 
come  here  do  pick  and  pull  much  awry." 

"  I  promise  you  I  will  be  good,"  said  Edith 
eagerly. 

"  That's  mair  than  ony  on  us  can  say  of  oursel/' 
said  Malcom,  showing  the  doctrinal  bias  of  his 
mind,  "  but  I  ken  fra'  ye  bonny  face  ye  mean  weel." 

"  O  Mr.  McTrump,  that  is  the  first  compliment 
I  have  received  in  Pushton,"  laughed  Edith. 

"  I'm  a  thinkin  it'll  not  be  the  last.  But  I  hope 
ye  mind  the  Scripter  where  it  says,  "  We  do  all 
fade  as  a  flower,'  and  ye  will  not  be  puffed  oop." 

But  Edith,  far  more  intent  on  horticultural  than 
scriptural  knowledge,  asked  quickly, — 

"  What  were  you  going  to  set  out  with  that 
trowel  ?  " 

"  A  new  strawberry  bed.  I  ha'  more  plants  the 
spring  than  I  can  sell,  sae  I  thought  to  put  oot  a 
new  bed,  though  I  ha'  a  good  mony." 

"  I  am  so  glad.  I  wish  to  set  out  a  large  bed 
and  can  get  the  plants  of  you." 

"  How  mony  do  ye  want  ?  "  said  Malcom,  with 
a  quick  eye  to  business. 

"  I  shall  leave  that  to  you  when  you  see  my 
ground.  Now  see  how  I  trust  you,  Mr.  McTrump." 

"  An  ye'll  not  lose  by  it,  though  I  would  na  like 


WAITING  FOR  SOME  ONE  TO  TURN  UP.     195 

a*  my  coostomers  to  put  me  sae  strictly  on  my  hon- 
esty." 

Edith  spent  the  next  hour  in  looking  around 
the  garden  and  green  houses  and  watching  the  old 
man  put  out  his  plants. 

"  These  plants  are  to  be  cooltivated  after  the 
hill  seestem,"  he  said.  "  They  are  to  stand  one 
foot  apart  in  the  row,  and  the  rows  two  feet 
apart,  and  not  a  rooner  or  weed  to  grow  on,  or 
near  them,  and  it  would  do  your  bright  eyes  good 
to  see  the  great  red  berries  they'll  bear." 

"  Shall  I  raise  mine  that  way  ?  "  said  Edith. 

"  Weel,  ye  might  soom,  but  the  narrow  row 
coolture  will  be  best  for  ye,  I'm  thinkin." 

"What's  that?" 

"  Weel,  just  let  the  plants  run  togither  and 
make  a  thick  close  row  a  foot  wide,  an'  two  feet 
between  the  rows.  That'll  be  the  easiest  for  ye, 
but  I'll  show  ye." 

"  I'm  so  glad  I  found  you  out,''  said  Edith, 
heartily,  "  and  if  you  will  let  me,  I  want  to  come 
here  often  and  see  how  you  do  everything,  for  to 
tell  you  the  truth,  between  ourselves,  we  are  poor, 
and  may  have  to  earn  our  living  out  of  the  garden, 
or  some  other  way,  and  I  would  rather  do  it  out  of 
the  garden." 

"  Weel  noo,  ye're  a  canny  lass  to  coom  and  filch 
all  old  Malcom's  secrets  to  set  oop  opposition  to  him. 
But  then  sin'  ye  do  it  sae  openly  I'll  tell  ye  all  I 
know.  The  big  wourld  ought  to  be  wide  enough 
for  a  bonnie  lassie  like  yoursel,  to  ha  a  char.ce  i» 


200  WffA  T  CAN  SHE  DOT 

it,  and  though  I'm  a  little  mon,  I  would  na  be  sas 
mean  a  one  as  to  hinder  ye.  Mairover  the  gar- 
dener's craft  be  a  gentle  one,  and  I  see  na  reason 
why,  if  a  white  lily  like  yoursel  must  toil  and  spin, 
it  should  na  be  oot  in  God's  sunshine,  where  the 
flowers  bloom,  instead  o'  pricking  the  bluid  oot  o* 
ye're  body,  and  the  hope  oot  o'  ye're  heart,  wi'  the 
needle's  point,  as  I  ha  seen  sae  mony  o'  my  ain 
coontry  lassies  do.  Gude-by,  and  may  the  roses  in 
ye'r  cheeks  bloom  a'  the  year  round." 

Edith  felt  as  if  his  last  words  were  a  blessing, 
and  started  with  her  heart  cheered  and  hopeful- 
and  yet  beyond  her  garden,  with  its  spring  prom- 
ise, its  summer  and  autumn  possibilities,  there  was 
little  inspiring  or  hopeful  in  her  new  home. 

In  accordance  with  their  mother's  policy,  they 
were  waiting  for  something  to  turn  up — waiting,  in 
utter  uncertainty,  and  with  dubious  prospects,  to 
achieve  by  marriage  the  security  and  competence 
which  they  must  not  work  for,  or  utterly  lose  caste 
in  the  old  social  world  in  which  they  had  lived. 

Be  not  too  hasty  in  condemning  Mrs.  Allen,  my 
reader,  for  you  may,  at  the  same  time,  condemn 
yourself.  Have  you  no  part  in  sustaining  that 
public  sentiment  which  turns  the  cold  shoulder  of 
society  toward  the  woman  who  works  ?  Many  are 
growing  rich  every  year,  but  more  are  growing 
poor.  What  does  the  "  best  society,"  in  the 
world's  estimation,  say  to  the  daughters  in  these 
families  ? 

"  Keep  your  little  hands  white,  my  dears,  as  long 


WAITING  FOR  SOME  ONE  TO  TURN  UP.    2OI 

as  you  can,  because  as  soon  as  the  traces  of  toil  are 
seen  on  them,  you  become  a  working  woman,  and 
our  daughters  can't  associate  with  you,  and  our 
sons  can't  think  of  you,  that  is  for  wives.  No  othel 
than  little  and  white  hands  can  enter  our  heaven." 

So  multitudes  struggle  to  keep  their  hands  white, 
though  thereby,  the  risk  that  their  souls  will  be- 
come stained  and  black,  increases  daily.  A  host 
of  fair  girls  find  their  way  every  year  to  darker 
stains  than  ever  labor  left,  because  they  know  how 
coldly  society  will  ignore  them  the  moment  they 
enlist  in  the  army  of  honest  workers.  But  you, 
respectable  men  and  women  in  your  safe  pleasant 
homes,  to  the  extent  that  you  hold  and  sustain  this 
false  sentiment,  to  the  extent  that  you  -make  the 
paths  of  labor  hard  and  thorny,  and  darken  them 
from  the  approving  smile  of  the  world,  you  are 
guilty  of  these  girls'  ruin. 

Christian  matron,  with  your  husband  one  of  the 
pillars  of  church  and  state,  do  you  shrink  with  dis- 
gust from  that  poor  creature  who  comes  flaunting 
down  Broadway.  None  but  the  white-handed  enter 
your  parlors,  and  the  men  (?)  who  are  hunting  such 
poor  girls  to  perdition,  will  sit  on  the  sofa  with 
your  daughters  this  evening.  Be  not  too  confident. 
Your  child,  or  one  in  whom  your  blood  flows,  at  a 
little  later  remove,  may  stand  just  where  honor  to 
toil  would  save,  but  the  practical  dishonoring  of  it, 
which  "you  sustain,  eventually  blot  out  the  light  of 
earth  and  heaven. 

Mrs.  Allen  knew  that  even  if  her  daughters 
9* 


7,02  WHA T  CAN  SHE  DO f 

commenced  teaching,  which,  with  all  the  thousands 
spent  on  their  education,  they,  were  incapable  of 
doing,  their  old  sphere  on  Fifth  Avenue  would  be 
as  unapproachable  as  the  pearly  gates,  between 
which  and  the  lost  a  "  great  gulf  is  fixed." 

But  Mrs.  Allen  knew  also  of  a  very  respectable 
way,  having  the  full  approval  of  society,  by  which 
they  might  regain  their  place  in  the  heaven  from 
which  they  had  fallen.  Besides  it  was  such  a 
simple  way,  requiring  no  labor  whatever,  though  a 
little  scheming  perhaps,  no  amount  of  brains  or 
culture  worth  mentioning,  no  heart  or  love,  and 
least  of  all  a  noble  nature.  A  woman  may  sell 
herself,  or  if  of  a  waxy  disposition,  having  little 
force,  might  be  sold  at  the  altar  to  a  man  who 
would  give  wealth  and  luxury  in  return.  This, 
society,  in  full  dress,  would  smile  upon  and  civil 
law  and  sacred  ceremony  sanction. 

With  the  forefinger  of  her  right  hand  resting 
impressively  on  the  palm  of  her  left,  Mrs.  Allen 
had  indicated  this  back  door  into  the  Paradise,  the 
gates  of  which  were  guarded  against  poor  working 
women  by  the  flaming  sword  of  public  opinion, 
turning  every  way. 

And  the  girls  were  waiting  yawningly,  wearily, 
as  the  long  unoccupied  days  passed.  Laura's  cheek 
grew  paler  than  even  her  delicate  style  of  beauty 
demanded.  She  seemed  not  only  a  hot-house  plant, 
but  a  sickly  one.  The  light  was  fading  from  her 
eye  as  well  as  the  color  from  her  cheek,  and  all 
vigor  vanishing  from  her  languid  soul  and  body. 


WAITING  FOR  SOME  ONE  TO  TURN  UP.    203 

The  resemblance  to  her  mother  grew  more  striking 
daily.  She  was  a  melancholy  result  of  that  artifi- 
cial luxurious  life  that  so  enervates  the  whole 
nature  that  there  seems  no  stamina  left  to  resist 
the  first  cold  blast  of  adversity.  Instead  of  being 
like  a  well-rooted  hardy  native  of  the  soil  she 
seemed  a  tender  exotic  that  would  wither  even  in 
the  honest  sunlight.  As  a  gardener  would  say, 
she  needed  "hardening  off."  This  would  require 
the  bracing  of  principle,  the  incentive  of  hope,  and 
the  development  of  work.  But  Mrs.  Allen  could 
not  lead  the  way  to  the  former,  and  the  latter  she 
forbade,  so  poor  Laura  grew  more  sickly  and 
morbid  every  day  of  her  weary  idle  waiting. 

Mrs.  Allen's  policy  bore  even  more  heavily  on 
Zell.  We  have  all  thought  something  perhaps  of 
the  cruelty  of  that  imprisonment  which  places  a 
young  vigorous  person,  abounding  in  animal  life 
and  spirits,  in  a  narrow  cell,  which  forbids  all  action 
and  stifles  hope.  It  gives  the  unhappy  victim  the 
sensation  of  being  buried  alive.  There  comes  at 
last  to  be  one  passionate  desire  to  get  out  and 
away.  Impulsive,  restless,  excitable  Zell,  with 
every  vein  filled  with  hot  young  blood,  was  shut 
out  from  what  seemed  to  her,  the  world,  and  no 
other  world  of  activity  was  shown  to  her.  Her 
hands  were  tied  by  her  mother's  policy,  and  she  sat 
moping  and  chafing  like  a  chained  captive,  waiting 
till  MT.  Van  Dam  should  come  and  deliver  her 
from  as  vile  durance  as  was  ever  suffered  in  the 
moss-grown  castles  of  the  old  world.  The  hope  of 


204  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DO  f 

his  coming  was  all  that  sustained  her.  Her  sad 
situation  was  the  result  of  acting  on  a  false  view 
of  life  from  beginning  to  end.  Any  true  parent 
would  have  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  a  daugh- 
ter marrying  such  a  man  as  Van  Dam,  but  Zeli 
was  forbidden  to  do  one  useful  thing  lest  it  might 
mar  her  chance  of  union  with  this  resume  of  all 
vice  and  uncleanness,  and  though  she  had  heard 
the  many  reports  of  his  evil  life,  her  moral  sense 
was  so  perverted  that  he  seemed  a  lion  rather  than 
a  reptile  to  her.  It  is  true,  she  looked  upon  him 
only  in  the  light  of  her  future  husband,  but  that 
she  did  not  shrink  from  any  relationship  with  such 
a  man,  shows  how  false  and  defective  her  education 
had  been. 

Edith  had  employment  for  mind  and  hand, 
therefore  was  happier  and  safer  than  either  of  her 
sisters.  Malcom  had  her  garden  thoroughly  plough- 
ed, and  helped  her  plant  it.  He  gave  her  many 
flower  roots  and  sold  others  at  very  low  prices. 
In  the  lower  part  of  the  garden,  where  the  ground 
was  rather  heavy  and  moist,  he  put  out  quite  a 
large  number  of  raspberries ;  and  along  a  stone 
fence,  where  weeds  and  bushes  had  been  usurping 
the  ground,  he  planted  two  or  three  varieties  of 
blackcaps.  He  also  lined  another  fence  with  Kit- 
tatinny  blackberries.  There  were  already  quite  a 
large  number  of  currants  and  gooseberries  on  the 
place.  These  he  trimmed,  and  put  in  cuttings  for 
new  bushes.  He  pruned  the  grapevines  also  some- 
what, but  not  to  any  extent,  on  account  of  the 


WAITING  FOR  SOME  ONE  TO  TURN  UP.    2O$ 

lateness  of  the  season,  meaning  to  get  them  into 
shape  by  summer  cutting.  The  orchard  also  was 
made  to  look  clean  and  trim,  with  dead  wood  and 
interfering  branches  cut  away.  Edith  watched 
these  operations  with  the  deepest  interest,  and 
when  she  could,  without  danger  of  being  observed 
from  the  road,  assisted,  though  in  a  very  dainty 
amateur  way.  But  Malcom  did  not  work  to  put 
in  hours,  but  seemed  to  do  everything  with  a 
sleight  of  hand,  that  made  his  visits  appear  too 
brief,  even  though  she  had  to  pay  for  them.  As 
a  refuge  from  long  idle  hours,  she  would  often  go 
up  to  Malcom's  little  place,  and  watch  him  and  his 
assistant  as  they  deftly  dealt  with  nature  in  ac- 
cordance with  her  moods,  making  the  most  of  the 
soil,  sunlight,  and  rain.  Thus  Malcom  came  to 
take  a  great  interest  in  her,  and  shrewd  Edith  was 
not  slow  in  fostering  so  useful  a  friendship.  But 
in  spite  of  all  this,  there  were  many  rainy  idle 
days  that  hung  like  lead  upon  her  hands,  and 
upon  these  especially,  it  seemed  impossible  to 
carry  out  her  purpose  to  be  gentle  and  forbearing, 
and  it  often  occurred  that  the  dull  apathy  of  the 
household  was  changed  into  positive  pain  by  sharp 
words  and  angry  retorts  that  should  never  have 
been  spoken. 

About  the  last  Sabbath  of  April,  Mrs.  Allen 
sent  .for  a  carriage  and  was  driven  with  her  daugh- 
ters to  one  of  the  most  fashionable  churches  of 
Pushton.  Marshalled  by  the  sexton,  they  rustled 
in  toilets  more  suitable  for  one  of  the  gorgeous 


2o6  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DO? 

temples  of  Fifth  Avenue,  than  even  the  most  am« 
bitious  of  country  churches.  Mrs.  Allen  hoped  to 
make  a  profound  impression  on  the  country  peo- 
ple, and  by  this  one  dress  parade,  to  secure  stand 
ing  and  cordial  recognition  among  the  foremost 
families.  But  she  overshot  the  mark.  The  fail- 
ure of  Mr.  Allen  was  known.  The  costly  mourn- 
ing suits  and  the  little  house  did  not  accord,  and 
the  solid,  sensible  people  were  unfavorably  im- 
pressed, and  those  of  fashionable  and  aristocratic 
tendencies  felt  that  considerable  investigation  was 
needed  before  the  strangers  could  be  admitted 
within  their  exclusive  circles.  So,  though  it  was 
not  a  Methodist  church  that  they  attended,  the 
Aliens  were  put  on  longer  probation  by  all  classes, 
when  if  they  had  appeared  in  a  simple  unassum- 
ing manner,  rating  themselves  at  their  true  worth 
and  position,  many  would  have  been  inclined  t* 
take  them  by  the  hand. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THEY  TURN  UP. 

/^\NE  morning,  a  month  after  the  Aliens  had 
^">^  gone  into  poverty's  exile,  Gus  Elliot  lounged 
into  Mr.  Van  Dam's  luxurious  apartments.  There 
was  everything  around  him  to  gratify  the  eye  of 
sense,  that  is,  such  sense  as  Gus  Elliot  had  culti- 
vated, though  an  angel  might  have  hidden  his  face. 
We  will  not  describe  these  rooms — we  had  better 
not.  It  is  sufficient  to  say  that  in  their  decorations, 
pictures,  bacchanal  ornaments,  and  general  sug 
gestion,  they  were  a  reflex  of  Mr.  Van  Dam's  char- 
acter, in  the  more  refined  and  aesthetic  phase  which 
he  presented  to  society.  Indeed,  in  the  name  of 
art,  whose  mantle,  if  at  times  rather  flimsy,  is 
broader  than  that  of  charity,  not  a  few  would  have 
admired  the  exhibitions  of  Mr.  Van  Dam's  taste, 
which,  though  not  severe,  were  bare  in  a  bad  sense. 
We  are  a  little  skeptical  in  regard  to  these  enthu- 
siasts for  nude  art. 

But  concerning  Gus  Elliot,  no  doubt  exists  in 
our  mind.  The  atmosphere  of  Mr.  Van  Dam's  room 
was  entirely  congenial  and  adapted  to  his  chosen 
direction  of  development.  He  was  a  young  man 
of  leisure  and  fashion  and  was  therefore  what  even 
the  fashionable  would  be  horrified  at  their  daugh- 


208  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOt 

ters  ever  becoming.  This  nice  distinction  between 
son  and  daughter  does  not  result  well.  It  leaves  men 
in  the  midst  of  society  unbranded  as  vile,  unmarked 
so  that  good  women  may  shrink  in  disgust  from 
them.  It  gives  them  a  chance  to  prey  upon  the 
v»reak,  as  Mr.  Van  Dam  purposed  to  do,  and  as  he 
Intended  to  induce  Gus  Elliot  to  do,  and  as  multitudes 
of  exquisitely  dressed  scoundrels  are  doing  daily. 

If  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Allen  had  done  their  duty  as 
parents,  they  would  have  kept  the  wolf  (I  beg  the 
wolfs  pardon)  the  jackal,  Mr.  Van  Dam,  with  his 
thin  disguise  of  society  polish,  from  entering  their 
fold.  Gus  Elliot  was  one  of  those  mean  curs  that 
never  lead,  and  could  always  be  drawn  into  any  evil 
that  satisfied  the  one  question  of  his  life,  "  Will  it 
give  me  what  /want." 

Gus  was  such  an  exquisite  that  the  smell  of 
garlic  made  him  sick,  and  the  sight  of  blood  made 
him  faint,  and  the  thought  of  coarse  working  hands 
was  an  abomination,  but  in  worse  than  idleness  he 
could  see  his  old  father  wearing  himself  out,  he 
could  get  "gentlemanly  drunk,"  and  commit  any 
wrong  in  vogue  among  the  fast  young  men  with 
whom  he  associated.  And  now  Mephistopheles 
Van  Dam  easily  induces  him  to  seek  to  drag  down 
beautiful  Edith  Allen,  the  woman  he  meant  to 
marry,  to  a  life  compared  with  which  the  city 
gutters  are  cleanly. 

Van  Dam  in  slippers  and  silken  robe  was  smok- 
ing his  meerschaum  after  a  late  breakfast  and  read- 
ing a  French  novel. 


THEY  TURN  UP.  209 

"What  is  the  matter?"  he  said,  noting  Gus* 
expression  of  ennui  and  discontent. 

"  There  is  not  another  girl  left  in  the  city  to  be 
mentioned  the  same  day  with  Edith  Allen,"  said 
Gus,  with  the  pettishness  of  a  child  from  whom 
something  had  been  taken. 

"  Well  spooney,  what  are  you  going  to  do  about 
it?"  asked  Mr.  Van  Dam  coolly. 

"  What  is  there  to  do  about  it  ?  you  know  well 
enough  that  I  can't  afford  to  marry  her.  I  sup- 
pose it's  the  best  thing  for  me  that  she  has  gone 
off  to  the  backwoods  somewhere,  for  while  she 
was  here  I  could  not  help  seeing  her,  and  after  all 
it  was  only  an  aggravation." 

"I  can't  afford  to  marry  Zell,"  replied  Van 
Dam,  "but  I  am  going  up  to  see  her  to-morrow. 
After  being  out  there  by  themselves  for  a  month, 
I  think  they  will  be  glad  to  see  some  one  from  the 
civilized  world."  The  most  honest  thing  about  Van 
Dam  was  his  sincere  commiseration  for  those  com- 
pelled to  live  in  quiet  country  places,  without 
experience  in  the  highly  spiced  pleasures  and  ex- 
citements of  the  metropolis.  In  his  mind  they  were 
associated  with  oxen — innocent,  rural  and  heavy, 
these  terms  being  almost  synonymous  to  him,  and 
suggestive  of  such  a  forlorn  tame  condition,  that 
it  seemed  only  vegetating,  not  living.  Mr.  Van 
Dam  believed  in  a  life,  like  his  favorite  dishes,  that 
abounded  in  cayenne.  Zell's  letters  had  confirmed 
this  opinion,  and  he  saw  that  she  was  half  desper- 
ate with  ennui  and  disgust  with  their  loneliness. 


2 10  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DO  f 

"  I  imagine  we  have  staid  away  long  enough,*1 
he  continued.  "  They  have  had  sufficient  of  the 
miseries  of  mud,  rain,  and  exile,  not  to  be  very 
nice  about  the  conditions  of  return  to  old  haunts 
and  life.  Of  course  I  can't  afford  to  marry  Zell 
any  more  than  you  can  Edith,  but  for  all  that  I 
expect  to  have  her  here  with  me  before  many 
months  pass,  and  perhaps  weeks." 

"  Look  here,  Van  Dam,  you  are  going  too  far. 
Remember  how  high  the  Aliens  once  stood  in  soci- 
ety,'' said  Gus,  a  little  startled. 

" '  Once  stood ; '  where  do  they  stand  now  ? 
Who  in  society  has,  or  will  lift  a  finger  for  them, 
and  they  seem  to  have  no  near  relatives  to  stand 
by  them.  I  tell  you  they  are  at  our  mercy.  Lux- 
ury is  a  necessity,  and  yet  they  are  not  able  to  earn 
their  bare  bread. 

"  Let  me  inform  you,"  he  continued,  speaking 
with  the  confidence  of  a  hunter,  who  from  long 
experience  knows  just  where  the  game  is  most  ea- 
sily captured,  "  that  there  is  no  class  more  helpless 
than  the  very  rich  when  reduced  to  sudden  poverty. 
They  are  usually  too  proud  to  work,  in  the  first 
place,  and  in  the  second,  they  don't  know  how  to 
do  anything.  What  does  a  fashionable  education 
fit  a  girl  for,  I  would  like  to  know,  if,  as  it  often  oc- 
curs, they  have  to  make  their  own  way  in  the  world  ? 
— a  smattering  of  everything,  mistress  of  nothing." 

"  Well  Van  Dam,"  said  Gus,  "according  to  your 
showing,  it  fits  them  for  little  schemes  like  the  one 
you  are  broaching." 


THEY  TURN  UP.  fell 

"  Precisely,  girls  who  know  how  to  work  and 
who  are  accustomed  to  it,  will  snap  their  fingeis  in 
your  face,  and  tell  you  they  can  take  care  of  them, 
selves,  but  the  class  to  which  the  Aliens  belong, 
unless  kept  up  by  some  rich  relations,  are  soon  al- 
most desperate  from  want.  I  have  kept  up  a  cor- 
respondence with  Zell.  They  seem  to  have  no 
near  relatives  or  friends  who  are  doing  much  for 
them.  They  are  doing  nothing  for  themselves, 
save  spend  what  little  there  is  left,  and  their  mo- 
notonous country  life  has  half-murdered  them 
already.  So  I  conclude  I  have  waited  long  enough 
and  will  go  up  to-morrow.  Instead  of  pouting  like 
a  spoiled  child,  over  your  lost  Edith,  you  had  better 
go  up  and  get  her.  It  may  take  a  little  time  and 
management.  Of  course  they  must  be  made  to 
think  we  intend  to  marry  them,  but  if  they  once 
elope  with  us,  we  can  find  a  priest  at  our  leisure. 

*'  I  will  go  up  to-morrow  with  you  any  way," 
said  Gus,  who,  like  so  many  others,  never  made  a 
square  bargain  with  the  devil,  but  was  easily  "  led 
captive"  from  one  wrong  and  villany  to  another. 

It  was  the  last  day  of  April — one  on  which  the 
rawness  and  harshness  of  early  spring  was  melting 
into  the  mildness  of  May.  The  buds  on  the  trees 
had  perceptibly  swollen.  The  flowering  maple  was 
still  aflame,  the  sweet  centre  of  attraction  to  in- 
numerable bees,  the  hum  of  whose  industry  rose 
and  Cell  on  the  languid  breeze.  The  grass  had  the 
delicate  green  and  exquisite  odor  belonging  to  its 
first  growth,  and  was  rapidly  turning  the  brown, 


213  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DOt 

withered  sward  of  winter  into  emerald.  The  sun 
shone  through  a  slight  haze,  but  shone  warmly. 
The  birds  had  opened  the  day  with  full  orchestra, 
but  at  noon  there  was  little  more  than  chirp  and 
twitter,  they  seeming  to  feel  something  of  Edith's 
languor,  as  she  leaned  on  the  railing  of  the  porch, 
and  watched  for  the  coming  of  Malcom.  She 
sighed  as  she  looked  at  the  bare  brown  earth  of  the 
large  space  that  she  purposed  for  strawberries,  and 
work  there  and  every  where  seemed  repulsive. 
The  sudden  heat  was  enervating  and  gave  her  the 
feeling  of  luxurious  languor  that  she  longed  to  enjoy 
with  the  sense  of  security  and  freedom  from  care. 
But  even  as  her  eyelids  drooped  with  momentary 
drowsiness,  there  was  a  consciousness,  like  a  dull 
half  recognized  pain,  of  insecurity,  of  impending 
trouble  and  danger,  and  of  a  need  for  exertion 
that  would  lead  to  something  more  certain  than 
anything  her  mother's  policy  promised. 

She  was  startled  from  her  heaviness  by  the 
sharp  click  of  the  gate  latch,  and  Malcom  entered 
with  two  large  baskets  of  strawberry  plants.  He 
had  said  to  her, — 

"  Wait  a  bit.  The  plants  will  do  weel,  put  oot 
the  last  o'  the  moonth.  An  ye  wait  I'll  gi(.  ye  the 
plants  I  ha'  left  oover  and  canna  sell  the  season. 
But  dinna  be  troobled,  I'll  keepit  enoof  for  ye  ony 
way." 

By  this  means  Edith  obtained  half  her  plants 
without  cost,  save  for  Malcom's  labor  of  transplant- 
ing them. 


THEY  TURN  UP. 


213 


The  weather  had  little  influence  on  Malcom's 
wiry  frame,  and  his  spirit  of  energetic,  cheerful  in- 
dustry was  contagious.  Once  aroused  and  inter- 
ested,  Edith  lost  all  sense  of  time,  and  the  after- 
noon passed  happily  away. 

At  her  request  Malcom  had  brought  her  a  pair 
of  pruning  nippers,  such  as  she  had  seen  him  use, 
and  she  kept  up  a  delicate  show  of  work,  trimming 
the  rose  bushes  and  shrubs,  while  she  watched 
him.  She  could  not  bring  her  mind  to  anything 
that  looked  like  real  work  as  yet,  but  she  had  a 
feeling  that  it  must  come.  She  saw  that  it  would 
help  Malcom  very  much  if  she  went  before  and 
dropped  the  plants  for  him,  but  some  one  might 
see  her,  and  speak  of  her  doing  useful  work.  The 
aristocratically  inclined  in  Pushton  would  frown  on 
the  young  lady  so  employed,  but  she  could  snip  at 
roses  and  twine  vines,  and  tkat  would  look  pretty 
and  rural  from  the  road. 

But  it  so  happened  that  the  one  who  caught  a 
glimpse  of  her  spring  day  beauty  and  saw  the 
pretty  rural  scene  she  crowned,  was  not  the  critical 
occupant  of  some  family  carriage  ;  for  when,  while 
near  the  road,  she  was  reaching  up  to  clip  off 
the  topmost  spray  of  a  bush,  her  attention  was 
drawn  by  the  rattle  of  a  wagon,  and  in  this  pictur- 
esque attitude  her  eyes  met  those  of  Arden  Lacey. 
The  sudden  remembrance  of  the  unkind  return 
made  to  him,  and  the  fact  that  she  had  therefore 
dreaded  meeting  him,  caused  her  to  blush  deeply. 
Her  feminine  quickness  caught  his  expression,  a  tin> 


2 14  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DO  t 

id  questioning  look,  that  seemed  to  ask  if  she  would 
act  the  part  of  the  others.  Edith  was  a  society 
and  city  girl,  and  her  confusion  lasted  but  a  sec- 
ond. Policy  whispered,  "  you  can  still  keep  him  as 
a  useful  friend,  though  you  must  keep  him  at  a 
distance,  and  you  may  need  him."  Some  sense 
of  gratitude  and  of  the  wrong  done  him  and  his, 
also  mingled  with  these  thoughts,  passing  with  the 
marvellous  rapidity  with  which  a  lady's  mind  acts 
in  social  emergencies.  She  also  remembered  that 
they  were  alone,  and  that  none  of  the  Pushton 
notables  could  see  that  she  was  acquainted  with 
the  "  drunken  Laceys.''  Therefore  before  the  dif- 
fident Arden  could  turn  away,  she  bowed  and 
smiled  to  him  in  a  genial,  conciliatory  manner. 
His  face  brightened  into  instant  sunshine  and  to 
her  surprise  he  lifted  his  old  weather-stained  felt 
hat  like  a  gentleman.  Though  he  had  received  no 
lessons  in  etiquette,  he  was  inclined  to  be  a  little 
courtly  and  stately  in  manner,  when  he  noticed  a 
lady  at  all,  from  unconscious  imitation  of  the  high 
bred  characters  in  the  romances  he  read.  He  said 
to  himself  in  glad  exultation, — 

"  She  is  different  from  the  rest.  She  is  AS 
divinely  good  as  she  is  divinely  beautiful,"  and 
away  he  rattled  toward  Pushton  as  happy  as  if  his 
old  box  wagon  were  a  golden  chariot,  and  he  a 
caliph  of  Arabian  story  on  whom  had  just  shone 
the  lustrous  eyes  of  the  Queen  of  the  East.  Then 
as  the  tumult  in  his  mind  subsided,  questioning 
thoughts  as  to  the  cause  of  her  blush  came  troop 


THEY  TURN  UP.  215 

Ing  through  his  mind,  and  at  once  there  arose  a 
long  vista  of  airy  castles  tipped  with  hope  as  with 
sunlight.  Poor  Arden!  What  a  wild  uncurbed 
imagination  had  mastered  his  morbid  nature,  as  he 
lived  a  hermit's  life  among  the  practical  people  of 
Pushton  !  If  he  had  known  that  Edith,  had  she  seen 
him  in  the  village,  would  have  crossed  the  street 
rather  than  have  met,  or  recognized  him,  it  would 
have  plunged  him  into  still  bitterer  misanthropy. 
She  and  his  mother  only  stood  between  him  and 
utter  contempt  and  hatred  of  his  kind,  as  they  ex- 
isted in  reality,  and  not  in  his  books  and  dreams. 

She  forgot  all  about  him  before  his  wagon  turn- 
ed the  corner  of  the  road,  and  chatted  away  to 
Malcom,  questioning  and  nipping  with  increasing 
zest.  As  the  day  grew  cooler,  her  spirits  rose  un 
der  the  best  of  all  stimulants,  agreeable  occupa- 
tion. The  birds  ceased  at  last  their  nest-build- 
ing, and  from  orchard  and  grove  came  many  an 
inspiring  song.  Edith  listened  with  keen  enjoy- 
ment, and  country  life  and  work  looked  differ- 
ently from  what  it  had  in  the  sultry  noon.  She 
saw  the  long  rows  of  strawberry  vines  increasing 
under  Malcom's  labors  with  deep  satisfaction.  In 
the  still  humid  air  the  plants  scarcely  wilted  and 
stood  up  with  the  bright  look  of  those  well  started 
in  life. 

As  it  grew  towards  evening  and  no  carriage  of 
note  had  passed,  Edith  ventured  to  get  her  trans- 
planting trowel,  doff  her  gloves,  and  commence  di 
viding  her  flower  roots  that  she  might  put  them 


2i6  WHAJ  CAN  SHE  DOt 

elsewhere.  She  became  so  interested  in  her  work 
that  she  was  positively  happy,  and  soft  hearted 
Malcom,  with  his  eye  for  the  beauties  of  nature,  was 
getting  his  rows  crooked,  because  of  so  many  ad- 
miring glances  toward  her  as  she  went  to  and  fro. 

The  sun  was  low  in  the  west  and  shone  in  crimson 
through  the  soft  haze.  But  the  color  in  her  cheeks 
was  richer  as  she  rose  from  the  ground,  her  little 
right  hand  lost  in  the  scraggly  earth-covered  roots 
of  some  hardy  phlox,  and  turned  to  meet  exquis- 
ite Gus  Elliot,  dressed  with  finished  care,  and 
hands  encased  in  immaculate  gloves.  Her  broad 
rimmed  hat  was  pushed  back,  her  dress  looped  up, 
and  she  made  a  picture  in  the  evening  glow  that 
would  have  driven  a  true  artist  half  wild  with  ad- 
miration ;  but  poor  Gus  was  quite  shocked.  The 
idea  of  Edith  Allen,  the  girl  he  had  meant  to 
marry,  grubbing  in  the  dirt  and  soiling  her  hands  in 
that  style  !  It  was  his  impression  that  only  Dutch 
women  worked  in  a  garden  ;  and  for  all  he  knew  of 
its  products  she  might  be  setting  out  a  potato 
plant.  Quick  Edith  caught  his  expression,  and 
while  she  crimsoned  with  vexation  at  her  plight, 
felt  a  new  and  sudden  sense  of  contempt  for  the 
semblance  of  a  man  before  her. 

But  with  the  readiness  of  a  society  girl  she 
smoothed  her  way  out  of  the  dilemma,  saying  with 
vivacity, — 

"  Why  Mr.  Elliot,  where  did  you  drop  from  ? 
You  have  surprised  me  among  my  flowers,  you  see." 

"  Indeed,  Miss  Edith,"  said  Gus,  in  rather  un. 


THEY  TURN  UP.  21? 

happily  phrased  gallantry,  "  to  see  you  thus  em- 
ployed makes  me  feel  as  if  we  both  had  dropped 
into  some  new  and  strange  sphere.  You  seem  the 
lovely  shepherdess  of  this  rural  scene,  but  where  is 
your  flock?" 

Shrewd  Malcom,  near  by,  watched  this  scene 
as  the  terrier  he  resembled  might,  and  took  instant 
and  instinctive  dislike  to  the  new  comer.  With  a 
contemptuous  sniff  he  thought  to  himself,  "There's 
mateerial  enoof  in  ye  for  so  mooch  toward  a  flock 
as  a  calf  and  a  donkey." 

"  A  truce  to  your  lame  compliments,''  she  said, 
concealing  her  vexation  under  badinage.  "  I  do 
not  live  by  hook  and  crook  yet,  whatever  I  may 
come  to,  and  I  remember  that  you  only  appreciate 
artificial  flowers  made  by  pretty  shop  girls,  and 
these  are  not  in  the  country.  But  come  in.  Moth- 
er and  my  sisters  will  be  glad  to  see  you." 

Gus  was  not  blind  to  her  beauty,  and  while  the 
idea  of  marriage  seemed  more  impossible  than  ever, 
now  that  he  had  seen  her  hands  soiled,  the  evil 
suggestion  of  Van  Dam  gained  attractiveness  with 
every  glance. 

Edith  found  Mr.  Van  Dam  on  the  porch  with 
Zell,  who  had  welcomed  him  in  a  manner  that 
meant  much  to  the  wily  man.  He  saw  how  neces- 
sary he  was  to  her,  and  how  she  had  been  living 
on  the  hope  of  seeing  him,  and  the  baseness  of  his 
nature  was  shown  that  instead  of  being  stirred  to 
one  noble  kindly  impulse  toward  hei,  he  simply  ex« 
ulted  in  his  power 


Jig  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DO 7 

"  Oh,"  said  she,  as  with  both  hands  she  greeted 
him,  her  eyes  half  filling  with  tears,  "we  have  been 
living  like  poor  exiles  in  a  distant  land,  and  you 
seem  as  if  just  from  home,  bringing  the  best  part 
of  it  with  you.'' 

"  And  I  shall  carry  you  back  to  it  ere  long,"  he 
whispered. 

Her  face  grew  bright  and  rosy  with  the  deepest 
happiness  she  had  ever  known.  He  had  never 
spoken  so  plainly  before.  "  Edith  can  never  taunt 
me  again  with  his  silence,"  she  thought.  Though 
sounding  well  enough  to  the  ear,  how  false  were 
his  words !  When  Satan  would  do  work  that  will 
sink  to  lowest  perdition,  he  must  commence  as  an 
angel  of  light.  Zell  was  giving  the  best  love  of 
which  her  heart  was  capable  in  view  of  her  defect- 
ive education  and  character.  In  a  sincere  and 
deep  affection  there  are  great  possibilities  of  good. 
Her  passion,  so  frank  and  strong,  in  the  hands  of  a 
true  man,  was  a  lever  that  might  have  lifted  her 
up  into  the  noblest  life.  Van  Dam  sought  to  use 
it  only  to  force  her  down.  He  purposed  to  cause 
one  of  God's  little  ones  to  offend. 

Edith  soon  appeared,  dressed  with  the  taste 
and  style  of  a  Fifth  Avenue  belle  of  the  more 
sensible  sort,  and  Gus  was  comforted.  Her  pictur- 
esque natural  beauty  in  the  garden  was  quite  lost 
on  him,  but  now  that  he  saw  the  familiar  touches 
of  the  artificial  in  her  general  aspect,  she  seemed 
to  him  the  peerless  Edith  of  old.  And  yet  his 
nice  eye  noted  that  even  a  month  of  absence  from 


THEY  TURN  UP. 


219 


the  fashionable  centre,  had  left  her  ignorant  of 
some  of  the  shadings  off  of  one  mode  into  another, 
and  the  thought  passed  over  the  polished  surface 
of  his  mind  (all  Gus'  thoughts  were  on  the  surface, 
there  being  no  other  accommodation  for  them) 
"  why,  a  year  in  this  out  of  the  world  life,  and  she 
would  be  only  a  country  girl." 

But  all  detracting  thoughts  of  each  other,  all 
mean,  vile,  and  deadly  purposes,  were  hidden 
under  smiling  exteriors.  Mrs.  Allen  was  the 
gracious,  elegant  matron  who  would  not  for  the 
world  let  her  daughters  soil  their  hands,  but 
schemed  to  marry  one  to  a  weak  apology  for  a 
man,  and  another  to  a  villain  out  and  out,  and  the 
fashionable  world  would  cordially  approve  and 
sustain  Mrs.  Allen's  tactics  if  she  succeeded. 

Laura  brightened  up  more  than  she  had  since 
her  father's  death.  Anything  that  gave  hope  of 
return  to  the  city,  and  the  possibility  of  again 
meeting  and  withering  Mr.  Goulden  with  her  scorn, 
was  welcome. 

And  Edith,  while  she  half  despised  Gus,  found 
it  very  pleasant  to  meet  those  of  her  old  set  again, 
and  repeat  a  bit  of  the  past.  The  young  crave 
companionship,  and  in  spite  of  all  his  weakness, 
she  half  liked  Elliot.  With  youth's  hopefulness 
she  believed  that  he  might  become  a  man  if  he 
only  would.  At  any  rate,  she  half-consciously 
formed  the  reckless  purpose  to  shut  her  eyes  to  all 
presentiments  of  coming  trouble  and  enjoy  thfl 
evening  to  the  utmost. 


220  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DO  f 

Hannibal  was  enjoined  to  get  up  as  fine  a  sup» 
per  as  possible,  regardless  of  cost,  with  Mrs.  Allen 
maid  to  assist. 

In  the  long  purple  twilight,  Edith  and  Zeli,  on 
the  arms  of  their  pseudo  lovers,  strolled  up  and 
down  the  paths  of  the  little  garden  and  dooryard. 
As  Edith  and  Gus  were  passing  along  the  walk 
that  skirted  the  road,  she  heard  the  heavy  rumble 
of  a  wagon  that  she  knew  to  be  Arden  Lacey's. 
She  did  not  look  up  or  recognize  him,  but  appeared 
so  intent  on  what  Gus  was  saying,  as  to  be  obliv- 
ious to  all  else,  and  yet  through  her  long  lashes,  she 
glanced  toward  him  in  a  rapid  flash,  as  he  sat  in 
his  rough  working  garb  on  the  old  board  where 
she,  on  the  rainy  night  of  her  advent  to  Pushton, 
had  clung  to  his  arm  in  the  jolting  wagon.  Mo- 
mentary as  the  glance  was,  the  pained,  startled 
expression  of  his  face  as  he  bent  his  eyes  full  upon 
her,  caught  her  attention  and  remained  with 
her. 

His  manner  and  appearance  secured  the  atten- 
tion of  Gus  also,  and  with  a  contemptuous  laugh, 
he  said  loud  enough  for  Arden  to  hear  partially,— 

"  That  native  comes  from  pretty  far  back,  I  im- 
agine. He  looks  as  if  he  never  saw  a  lady  and 
gentleman  before.  The  idea  of  living  like  such  a 
cabbage  head  as  that." 

If  Gus  had  not  been  with  Edith,  his  good 
clothes  and  good  looks  would  have  been  spoiled 
within  the  next  five  minutes. 

Edith  glanced  the  other  way  and  pointed  to 


THEY  TURN  UP.  2^f 

hei  strawberry  bed  as  if  not  noticing  his  icmark  or 
its  object,  saying, — 

"If  you  will  come  and  see  us  a  year  from  next 
June,  I  can  give  you  a  dainty  treat  from  these 
plants." 

"  You  will  not  be  here  next  June,"  said  Gus 
tenderly.  "  Do  you  imagine  we  can  spare  you 
from  New  York  ?  The  city  has  seemed  dull  since 
robbed  of  the  light  of  your  bright  eyes." 

Edith  rather  liked  sugar  plums  of  such  make, 
even  from  Gus,  and  she,  as  it  were,  held  out  her 
h^nd  again  by  the  rather  sentimental  remark, — 

"  Absent  ones  are  soon  forgotten." 

Gus,  from  much  experience,  knew  how  to  flirt 
beautifully,  and  so  with  some  aptness  and  show  of 
feeling,  replied, — 

"  From  my  thoughts  you  are  never  absent." 

Edith  gave  him  a  quick  questioning  look. 
What  did  he  mean?  He  had  avoided  everything 
tending  to  commit  him  to  a  penniless  girl  after  her 
father's  death.  Was  this  mere  flirtation?  Or  had 
he,  in  absence,  learned  his  need  of  her  for  happi- 
ness, and  was  now  willing  to  marry  her  even 
though  poor. 

"  If  he  is  man  enough  to  do  this,  he  is  capable 
of  doing  more,"  she  thought  quickly,  and  circum- 
stances pleaded  for  him.  She  felt  so  troubled 
about  the  future,  so  helpless  and  lonely,  and  he 
seemed  so  inseparably  associated  with  her  old 
bright  life,  that  she  was  tempted  to  lean  on  such  a 
swaying  reed  as  she  knew  Gus  to  be.  She  did  no*. 


222  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOt 

reply,  but  he  could  see  the  color  deepen  in  hei 
cheeks  even  in  the  fading  twilight,  her  bosom  rose 
and  fell  more  quickly,  and  her  hand  rested  upon 
his  arm  with  a  more  confiding  pressure.  What 
more  could  he  ask  ?  and  he  exulted. 

But  before  he  could  speak  again  they  were 
summoned  to  supper.  Van  Dam  touched  Gus* 
elbow  as  they  passed  in  and  whispered, — 

"  Don't  be  precipitate.  Say  nothing  definite 
to-night.  I  gather  from  Zell  that  a  little  more  of 
their  country  purgatory  will  render  them  wholly 
desperate." 

Edith  noticed  the  momentary  detention  and 
whispering,  and  the  thought  there  was  some  un- 
derstanding between  the  two  occurred  to  her. 
For  some  undefined  reason  she  was  always  inclined 
to  be  suspicious  and  on  the  alert  when  Mr.  Van 
Dam  was  present.  And  yet  it  was*  but  a  pass- 
ing thought,  soon  forgotten  in  the  enjoyment  of 
the  evening,  after  so  long  and  dull  an  experience. 
Zell  was  radiant,  and  there  was  a  glimmer  of  color 
in  Laura's  pale  cheeks. 

After  supper  they  sat  down  to  cards.  The 
decanter  was  placed  on  the  side  table,  and  heavy 
inroads  were  made  on  Mrs.  Allen's  limited  stock  of 
wine,  for  the  gentlemen,  feeling  that  they  were  off 
on  a  lark,  were  little  inclined  to  self-control.  They 
also  insisted  on  the  ladies  drinking  health  with 
them,  which  foolish  Zell,  and  more  foolish  Mrs. 
Allen  were  too  ready  to  do,  and  for  the  first  time 
since  their  coming,  the  little  cottage  resounded 


THEY  TURN  UP.  223 

with  laughter  that  was  too  loud  and  frequent  to 
be  inspired  by  happiness  only. 

If  guardian  angels  watched  there,  as  we  believe 
they  do  everywhere,  they  might  well  veil  their  faces 
in  sadness  and  shame. 

But  the  face  of  poor  innocent  Hannibal  shone 
with  delight,  and  nodding  his  head  toward  Mrs. 
Allen's  maid  with  the  complacency  of  a  prophet 
who  saw  his  predictions  fulfilled,  he  said  : 

"  I  told  you  my  young  ladies  wasn't  gwine  to 
stay  long  in  Bushtown,"  (as  Hannibal  persisted  in 
calling  the  place). 

To  Arden  Lacey,  the  sight  of  Edith  listening 
with  glowing  cheeks  and  intent  manner  to  a  stran- 
ger with  her  hand  within  his  arm — a  stranger  too 
that  seemed  the  embodiment  of  that  convention- 
ality of  the  world  which  he  despised  and  hated,  was 
a  vision  that  pierced  like  a  sword.  And  then 
Gus'  contemptuous  words,  Edith's  non-recognition, 
though  he  tried  to  believe  she  had  not  seen  him, 
was  like  vitriol  to  a  wound.  At  first  there  was  a 
mad  impulse  of  anger  toward  Elliot,  and  as  we 
have  intimated,  only  Edith's  presence  prevented 
Arden  from  demanding  instant  apology  He  knew 
enough  of  his  fiery  nature  to  feel  that  he  must  get 
away  as  fast  as  possible,  or  he  might  forever  dis- 
grace himself  in  Edith's  eyes. 

As  he  rode  home  his  mind  was  in  a  sad  chaos. 
He  was  conscious  that  his  airy  castles  were  falling 
about  him  with  a  crash,  which  though  unheard  by 
all  the  world,  shook  his  soul  to  the  centre. 


224 


WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DOt 


Too  utterly  miserable  to  face  his  mother,  loath* 
ing  the  thought  of  food,  he  put  up  his  horses  and 
rushed  out  into  the  night. 

In  his  first  impulse  he  vowed  never  to  look 
toward  Edith  again,  but  before  two  hours  of  fruit- 
less wandering  had  passed,  a  fascination  drew  his 
feet  toward  Edith's  cottage,  only  to  hear  that  de- 
tested voice  again,  only  to  hear  even  Edith's  laugh 
ring  out  too  loud  and  reckless  to  come  from  the 
lips  of  the  exquisite  ideal  of  his  dreams.  Though 
the  others  had  spoken  in  thunder  tones,  he  had 
ears  for  these  two  voices  only.  He  rushed  away 
from  the  spot,  as  one  might  from  some  torturing 
vision,  exclaiming, — 

"  The  real  world  is  a  worse  mockery  than  the 
one  of  my  dreams.  Would  to  heaven  I  had  never 
been  born !  " 


CHAPTER  XIV. 
WE  CAN'T  WORK. 

HTHE  gentlemen  agreed  to  meet  the  ladies  the 
next  day  at  church.  Mrs.  Allen  insisted  upon 
it,  as  she  wished  to  show  the  natives  of  Pushton 
that  they  were  visited  by  people  of  style  from  the 
city.  As  yet  they  had  not  received  many  calls, 
and  those  venturing  had  come  in  a  reconnoiter- 
ing  kind  of  way.  She  knew  so  little  of  solid  coun- 
try people  as  to  suppose  that  two  young  men,  like 
Gus  Elliot  and  Van  Dam,  would  make  a  favorable 
impression.  The  latter  with  a  shrug  and  grimace  at 
Zell,  which  she,  poor  child,  thought  funny,  promis- 
ed to  do  so,  and  then  they  took  leave  with  great 
cordiality. 

So  they  were  ready  to  hand  the  Aliens  out  of 
their  carriage  the  next  morning,  and  were,  with  the 
ladies,  who  were  dressed  even  more  elaborately 
than  on  the  previous  Sabbath,  shown  to  a  promi- 
nent pew,  the  centre  of  many  admiring  eyes,  as  they 
supposed.  But  where  one  admired,  ten  criticised. 
The  summer  hotel  at  Pushton  had  brought  New 
York  too  near  and  made  it  too  familiar  for  Mrs.  Al- 
len's tactics.  Visits  to  town  were  easily  made  and 
frequent,  and  by  brief  diversions  of  their  attention 
from  the  service,  the  good  church  people  soon  sat- 
10* 


226  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DOt 

isfied  themselves  that  the  young  men  belonged  to 
the  bold  fast  type,  an  impression  strengthened  by 
the  parties  themselves  who  had  devotion  only  for 
Zeli  and  Edith,  and  a  bold  stare  for  any  pretty  girl 
that  caught  their  eyes. 

After  church  they  parted  with  the  understand- 
ing that  the  gentlemen  should  come  out  toward 
night  and  spend  the  evening. 

Mr.  Van  Dam  and  Gus  Elliot  dined  at  the  vil- 
lage hotel,  having  ordered  the  best  dinner  that  the 
landlord  was  capable  of  serving,  and  a  couple 
of  bottles  of  wine.  Over  this  they  became  so 
exhilarated  as  to  attract  a  good  deal  of  atten- 
tion. A  village  tavern  is  always  haunted  by  idle 
clerks,  and  a  motley  crowd  of  gossips,  on  the  Sab- 
bath, and  to  these  the  irruption  of  two  young 
bloods  from  the  city,  was  a  slight  break  in  the  mo- 
notony of  their  slow  shuffling  jog  toward  perdi- 
tion ;  and  when  the  fine  gentlemen  began  to  get 
drunk  and  noisy  it  was  really  quite  interesting.  A 
group  gathered  round  the  bar,  and  through  the 
open  door  could  see  into  the  dining-room.  Soon 
with  unsteady  step,  Van  Dam  and  Elliot  joined 
them,  the  latter  brandishing  an  empty  bottle,  and 
calling  in  a  thick  loud  voice, — 

"  Here  landlord  (hie)  open  a  bottle  (hie)  of 
wine,  for  these  poor  (hie)  suckers. (hie)  I  don't  sup- 
pose (hie)  they  ever  tasted  (hie)  anything  better 
than  corn  whiskey,  (hie)  But  I'll  moisten  (hie) 
their  gullets  to-day  (hie)  with  a  gentleman's  drink." 

The    crowd  was  mean  Enough,  as  the  loafers 


WE  CAN'T  WORK.  22? 

about  a  tavern  usually  are,  to  give  a  faint  cheer 
in  the  prospect  of  a  treat,  even  though  accompa- 
nied with  words  synonymous  with  a  kick.  But  one 
big  raw-boned  fellow  who  looked  equal  to  any 
amount  of  corn-whiskey,  or  anything  else,  could 
not  swallow  Gus's  insolence,  and  stepped  up  say- 
ing,— 

"  Look  here  Capen,  I'm  ready  enough  to  drink 
with  a  chap  when  he  asks  me  like  a  gentleman,  but 
I  feel  more  like  puttin'  a  head  on  you  than  drinkin' 
with  yer." 

Gus  had  the  false  courage  of  wine  and  prided 
himself  on  his  boxing.  In  the  headlong  fury  of 
drunkenness  he  flung  the  bottle  at  the  man's  head, 
just  grazing  it,  and  sprang  toward  him,  but  stum- 
bled and  fell.  The  man,  with  a  certain  rude  sense 
of  chivalry,  waited  for  him  to  get  up,  but  the  mean 
loafers,  who  had  cheered  were  about  to  manifest 
their  change  of  sentiment  toward  Gus,  by  kicking 
him  in  his  prostrate  condition.  Van  Dam,  who 
also  had  drunk  too  much  to  be  his  cool  careful  self, 
now  drew  a  pistol,  and  with  a  savage  volley  of  oaths, 
swore  he  would  shoot  the  first  man  who  touched 
his  friend.  Then  helping  Gus  up,  he  carried  him 
off  to  a  private  room,  and  with  the  skill  of  an  old 
experienced  hand,  set  about  righting  himself  and 
Elliot  up  so  that  they  might  be  in  a  presentable 
condition  for  their  visit  at  the  Aliens. 

"-Curse  it  all,  Gus,  why  can  you  not  keep  with- 
in bounds  ?  If  this  gets  to  the  girls'  ears  it  may 
spoil  everything." 


J28  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOt 

By  five  o  clock  Gus  had  so  far  recovered  as  to 
venture  to  drive  to  the  Aliens,  and  the  fresh  ail 
restored  him  rapidly.  Before  leaving,  the  landlord 
said  to  Van  Dam, — 

"  You  had  better  stay  out  there  all  night. 
From  what  I  hear  the  boys  are  going  to  lay  for  you 
when  you  come  home  to-night.  I  don't  want  any 
rows  connected  with  my  house.  I'd  rather  you 
wouldn't  come  back.'' 

Van  Dam  muttered  an  oath,  and  told  the  driver 
to  go  on. 

As  a  matter  of  course  they  were  received  very 
cordially.  Gus  was  quite  himself  again.  He  only 
seemed  a  little  more  inclined  to  be  sentimental  and 
in  higher  spirits  than  usual. 

They  walked  again  in  the  twilight  through  the 
garden  and  under  the  budding  trees  of  the  orchard. 
Gus  assumed  a  caressing  tone  and  manner,  which 
Eaith  half  received  and  half  resented.  She  felt 
that  she  did  not  know  her  own  mind  and  did  not 
understand  him  altogether,  and  so  she  took  a  diplo- 
matic middle  course  that  would  leave  her  free  to 
go  forward  or  retreat.  Zell,  under  the  influence  of 
Mr.  Van  Dam's  flattering  manner,  walked  in  a  beau- 
tiful but  lurid  dream.  At  last  they  all  gathered  in 
the  parlor  and  chatted  and  laughed  over  old  times, 

On  this  Sabbath  evening  one  of  the  officers  of 
the  church  seeing  that  the  Aliens  had  twice  wor- 
shipped with  them,  felt  that  perhaps  he  ought  to 
call  and  give  some  encouragement.  As  he  came 
up  the  path  he  was  surprised  at  the  confused  sound 


WE  CAN'T  WORK.  229 

of  voices.  With  his  hand  on  the  door-bell  he 
paused,  and  through  an  opening  between  the  cur- 
tains  saw  the  young  men  of  whose  bar-room  per- 
formance he  had  happened  to  hear.  Not  caring  to 
meet  any  of  their  ilk  he  went  silently  away  shaking 
his  head  with  ill-omened  significance.  Of  course 
the  good  man  told  his  wife  what  sort  of  company 
their  new  neighbors  kept,  and  whom  didn't  she  tell  ? 

The  evening  grew  late,  but  no  carriage  came 
from  the  village. 

"  It's  very  strange,"  said  Van  Dam. 

"  If  it  don't  come  you  must  stay  all  night,"  said 
Mrs.  Allen  graciously.  "  We  can  make  you  quite 
comfortable  even  if  we  have  a  little  house." 

Mr.  Van  Dam,  and  Gus  also,  were  profuse  in 
their  thanks.  Edith  bit  her  lip  with  vexation. 
She  felt  that  gentlemen  who  to  the  world  would 
seem  so  intimate  with  the  family,  in  reality  held  no 
relation,  and  that  she  and  Zell  were  being  placed 
in  a  false  position.  But  no  scruples  of  prudence 
occurred  to  thoughtless  Zell.  With  an  arch  look 
toward  her  lover  she  said, — 

"  I  think  it  threatens  rain  so  of  course  you  can- 
not go." 

"  Let  us  go  out  and  see,"  he  said. 

In  the  darkness  of  the  porch  he  put  his  anr 
around  and  drew  the  unresisting  girl  to  him,  but 
he  did  not  say  like  a  true  man, 

"  Zell,  be  my  wife."      . 

But  poor  Zell  thought  that  was  what  all  his 
attention  and  show  of  affection  meant. 


230  WffA  T  CAN  SHE  DO  f 

Edith  and  Gus  joined  them,  and  the  lattef 
thought  also  to  put  his  regard  in  the  form  of  ca- 
ressing action,  rather  than  in  honest  outspoken 
words,  but  she  turned  and  said  a  little  sharply, — 

"  You  have  no  right." 

"  Give  me  the  right  then,"  he  whispered. 

"  Whether  I  shall  ever  do  that  I  cannot  say.  It 
depends  somewhat  on  yourself.  But  I  cannot  now 
and  here." 

The  warning  hand  of  Van  Dam  was  reached 
through  the  darkness  and  touched  Gus'  arm. 

The  next  morning  they  walked  back  to  the 
village,  were  driven  two  or  three  miles  to  the  near- 
est railway  station,  and  took  the  train  to  the  city, 
having  promised  to  come  again  soon. 

The  week  following  their  departure  was  an 
eventful  one  to  the  inmates  of  the  little  cottage, 
and  all  unknown  the  most  unfavorable  influences 
were  at  work  against  them.  The  Sunday  hangers 
on  of  a  tavern  have  their  points  of  contact  with 
the  better  classes,  and  gossip  is  a  commodity 
always  in  demand,  whatever  brings  it  to  market. 
Therefore  the  scenes  in  the, dining  and  bar-rooms, 
in  which  Mrs.  Allen's  "  friends"  had  played  so 
prominent  a  part  were  soon  portrayed  in  hovel 
and  mansion  alike,  with  such  exaggerations  and 
distortions  as  a  story  inevitably  suffers  as  passed 
along.  The  part  acted  by  the  young  men  was 
C-rtainly  bad  enough,  but  rumor  made  it  much 
worse.  Then  this  stream  of  gossip  was  met  by 
another  coming  from  the  wife  of  the  good  man, 


WE  CAN'T  WORK.  2JI 

who  had  called  with  the  best  intentions  Sunday 
evening,  but  pained  at  the  nature  of  the  Aliens, 
associations,  had  gone  lamenting  to  his  wife,  and 
she  had  gone  lamenting  to  the  majority  of  the 
elder  ladies  of  the  church.  These  two  streams 
uniting,  quite  a  tidal  wave  of"  I  want  to  knows," 
and  "  painful  surprises,"  swept  over  Pushton, 
and  the  Aliens  suffered  wofully  through  their 
friends.  They  had  already  received  some  recon- 
noitering  calls,  and  a  few  from  people  who  wanted  to 
be  neighborly.  But  the  truth  was  the  people  of 
Pushton  had  been  somewhat  perplexed.  They 
did  not  know  where  to  put  the  Aliens.  The  fact 
that  Mr.  Allen  had  been  a  rich  merchant,  and 
lived  on  Fifth  Avenue,  counted  for  something. 
But  then  even  the  natives  of  Pushton  knew  that 
all  kinds  of  people  lived  on  Fifth  Avenue,  as  else- 
where, and  that  some  of  the  most  disreputable 
were  the  richest.  A  clearer  credential  than  that 
was  therefore  needed.  Then  again  there  was 
another  puzzle.  The  fact  that  Mr.  Allen  had 
failed,  and  that  they  lived  in  a  little  house  indica- 
ted poverty.  But  their  style  of  dressing  and  order- 
ing from  the  store  also  suggested  considerable 
property  left.  The  humbler  poi  tion  of  the  com- 
munity doubted  whether  they  were  the  style  of 
people  for  them  to  call  on,  and  the  rumor  of  Rose 
Lacey's  treatment  getting  abroad  in  spite  of  Ar- 
den's-  injunction  to  the  contrary,  confirmed  these 
doubts,  and  alienated  this  class.  The  more  wealthy 
and  fashionably  incli  led,  doubted  the  grounds  fof 


332  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOt 

their  calling,  having  by  no  means  made  up  their 
minds  whether  they  could  take  the  Aliens  into 
their  exclusive  circle.  So  thus  far  Mrs.  Allen  and 
her  daughters  had  given  audience  to  a  sort  of  mid- 
dle class  of  skirmishers  and  scouts  representing  no 
one  in  particular  save  themselves,  who  from  a  pen- 
chant in  that  direction  went  ouC  and  obtained  infor- 
mation, so  that  the  more  solid  ranks  behind  could 
know  what  to  do.  In  addition,  *..s  we  have  intimated, 
there  were  a  few  good  kindly  people  who  said, — 

"  These  strangers  have  come  to  live  among  us, 
and  we  must  give  them  a  neighborly  welcome." 

But  there  was  something  in  their  homely  hon- 
est heartiness  that  did  not  suit  Mrs.  Allen's  arti- 
ficial taste,  and  she  rather  snubbed  them. 

"  Heaven  deliver  us  soon  from  Pushton,"  she 
said,  "  if  the  best  people  have  no  more  air  of  quality 
than  these  outlandish  tribes.  They  all  look  and  act" 
as  if  they  had  come  out  of  the  ark." 

If  the  Aliens  had  frankly  and  patiently  accepted 
their  poverty  and  misfortunes,  and  by  close  economy 
and  some  form  of  labor  had  sought  to  maintain 
an  honest  independence,  they  could  soon  through 
this  latter  class,  have  become  en  rapport  with,  not 
the  wealthy  and  fashionable,  but  the  finest  people 
of  the  community ;  people  having  the  refinement, 
intelligence,  and  heart  to  make  the  best  friends  we 
can  possess.  It  might  take  some  little  time.  It 
ought  to.  Social  recognition  and  esteem  should 
be  earned.  Unless  strangers  bring  clear  letters  of 
credit,  or  established  reputation,  they  must  expect 


WE  CAN'T  WORK.  233 

to  be  put  on  probation.  But  if  they  adopt  a  course 
of  simple  sincerity  and  dignity,  and  especially  one 
of  great  prudence,  they  are  sure  to  find  the  right 
sort  of  friends,  and  win  the  social  position  to  which 
they  are  justly  entitled.  But  let  the  finger  of 
scandal  and  doubt  be  pointed  toward  them,  and 
all  having  sons  and  daughters  will  stand  aloof  on  the 
ground  of  self-protection,  if  nothing  else.  The 
taint  of  scandal,  like  the  taint  of  leprosy,  causes  a 
general  shrinking  away. 

The  finger  of  doubt  and  scandal  in  Pushton  was 
now  most  decidedly  pointed  toward  the  Aliens. 
It  was  reported  around, — 

"  Their  father  was  a  Wall  street  gambler  who 
lost  all  in  a  big  speculation  and  died  suddenly  or 
committed  suicide.  They  belonged  to  the  ultra 
fast  fashionable  set  in  New  York,  and  the  events 
of  the  past  Sabbath  show  that  they  are  not  the 
persons  for  self-respecting  people  to  associate  with." 

Some  of  the  rather  dissipated  clerks  and  semi- 
loafers  of  the  village  were  inclined  to  make  the  ac- 
quaintance of  such  stylish  handsome  girls,  but  the 
Aliens  received  the  least  advance  from  them  with 
ineffable  scorn. 

Thus  within  the  short  space  of  a  month  Mrs. 
Allen  had,  by  her  policy,  contrived  to  isolate  het 
family  as  completely  as  if  they  had  a  pestilence. 

Even  Mrs.  Lacey  and  Rose  were  inclined  to  pass 
from  indignation  to  contempt ;  for  Mr.  Lacey  was 
present  at  the  scene  in  the  bar-room,  and  reported 
that  the  "  two  young  bucks  were  friends  of  their 


234  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DO? 

new  neighbors,  the  Aliens,  and  had  staid  there 
all  Sunday-night  because  they  darsn't  go  back  to 
town." 

"  Well,"  said  Rose,  "  with  all  their  airs,  I  haven't 
got  to  keeping  company  with  that  style  of  men 
yet." 

"  Cease  to  call  yourself  my  sister  if  you  ever  do 
knowingly,"  said  Arden  sternly.  "  I  don't  believe 
Edith  Allen  knows  the  character  of  these  men. 
They  would  not  report  themselves,  and  who  is  to 
do  it  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  you  had  better,"  said  Rose  mali- 
ciously. 

Arden's  only  answer  was  a  dark  frowning  look. 
A  severe  conflict  was  progressing  in  his  mind.  One 
impulse  was  to  regard  Edith  as  unworthy  of  an- 
other thought.  But  his  heart  pleaded  for  her,  and 
the  thought  that  she  was  different  from  the  rest, 
and  capable  of  developing  a  character  as  beautiful 
as  her  person,  grew  stronger  as  he  dwelt  upon  it. 

Like  myself  she  is  related  to  others  that  drag 
her  down,  he 'thought,  and  she  seems  to  have  no 
friend  or  brother  to  protect  or  warn  her.  Even  if 
this  over-dressed  young  fool  is  her  lover,  if  she 
could  have  seen  him  prostrate  on  the  bar-room 
floor,  she  would  never  look  at  him  again.  If  so  I 
would  never  look  at  her. 

His  romantic  nature  became  impressed  with  the 
idea  that  he  might  become  in  some  sense  her  un- 
known knight  and  protector,  and  keep  her  from 
marrying  a  man  that  would  sink  to  what  his  father 


WE  CAN'T  IVOR  1C.  235 

was.  Therefore  he  passed  the  house  as  often  as  he 
could  in  hope  that  there  might  be  some  opportu- 
nity of  seeing  her. 

To  poor  Edith,  troubles  thickened  fast,  for  as 
we  have  seen,  the  brunt  of  everything  came  on  her. 
Early  on  the  forenoon  of  Monday  the  carpenter 
appeared  asking  with  a  hard  determined  tone,  for 
his  money,  adding  with  satire, — 

"  I  suppose  it's  all  right  of  course.  People  who 
want  everything  done  at  once  must  expect  to  pay 
promptly.'' 

"  Your  bill  is  much  too  large — much  larger  than 
you  gave  us  any  reason  to  suppose  it  would  be/ 
said  Edith. 

"  I've  only  charged  you  regular  rates,  Miss,  and 
you  put  me  to  no  little  inconvenience  besides." 

"  That's  not  the  point.  It's  double  the  amount 
you  gave  us  to  understand  it  would  be,  and  if  you 
should  deduct  the  damage  caused  by  your  delay, 
it  would  greatly  reduce  it.  I  do  not  feel  willing 
that  this  bill  should  be  paid  as  it  stands." 

"  Very  well  then,"  said  the  man,  coolly  rising. 
"  You  threatened  me  with  a  lawyer,  I'll  let  my 
lawyer  settle  with  you." 

"Edith,"  said  Mrs.  Allen  majestically,  "bring 
iry  check-book." 

"  Don't  pay  it,  mother.  He  can't  make  us  pay 
such  a  bill  in  view  of  the  fact  he  left  our  roof  open 
in  the  rain.'1 

"  Do  as  I  bid  you,"  said  Mrs.  Allen  impressively. 

"  There,"  she  said  to  the  chuckling  builder,  in 


236  » If  A  T  CAN  SHE  DO  t 

lofty  scorn,  throwing  toward  him  a  check  as  if  it 
were  dirt.  "  Now  leave  the  presence  of  ladies 
whom  you  don't  seem  to  know  much  about." 

The  man  reddened  and  went  out  muttering 
that  "he  had  seen  quite  as  good  ladies  before." 

Two  days  later  a  letter  from  Mrs.  Allen's  bank 
brought  dismay  by  stating  that  she  had  overdrawn 
her  account. 

The  next  day  there  came  a  letter  from  their 
lawyer  saying  that  a  messenger  from  the  bank  had 
called  upon  him — that  he  was  sorry  they  had  spent 
all  their  money — that  he  could  not  sell  the  stock 
he  held  at  any  price  now — and  they  had  better  sell 
their  house  in  the  country  and  board. 

This  Mrs.  Allen  was  inclined  to  do,  but  Edith 
s>aid  almost  fiercely, — 

"  I  won't  sell  it.  I  am  bound  to  have  some 
place  of  refuge  in  this  hard  pitiless  world.  I  hold 
the  deed  of  this  property,  and  we  certainly  can  get 
something  to  eat  off  of  it,  and  if  we  must  starve,  no 
one  at  least  can  disturb  us." 

"  What  can  we  do,"  said  Mrs.  Allen,  crying  and 
wringing  her  hands. 

"  We  ought  to  have  saved  our  money  and  gone 
to  work  at  something,"  answered  Edith  sternly. 

"  I  am  not  able  to  work,"  whined  Laura. 

"  I  don't  know  how  to  work,  and  I  won't  starve 
either,"  cried  Zell  passionately.  "  I  shall  write  to 
Mr.  Van  Dam  this  very  day  and  tell  him  all  about 
it." 

"  I  would  rather  work  my  fingers  off,"  retorted 


WE  CAN'T  WORK.  237 

Edith  scornfully,  4<than  have  a  man  come  and 
marry  me  out  of  chanty,  finding  me  as  helpless  as 
if  I  were  picked  up  off  the  street,  and  on  the  street 
we  would  soon  be  without  shelter  or  friends  if  we 
sold  this  place." 

And  so  the  blow  fell  upon  them,  and  such  was 
the  spirit  with  which  they  bore  it. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE  TEMPTATION, 

**PHE  same  mail  brought  them  a  long  bill  froia 
A  Mr.  Hard,  accompanied  with  a  very  polite  but 
decisive  note  saying  that  it  was  his  custom  to  have 
a  monthly  settlement  with  his  customers. 

The  rest  of  the  family  looked  with  new  dismay 
and  helplessness  at  this,  and  Edith  added  bitterly, 

"  There  are  half  a  dozen  other  bills  also." 

"What  can  we  do?"  again  Mrs.  Allen  cried 
piteously.  "  If  you  girls  had  only  accepted  some  of 
your  splendid  offers — " 

"  Hush,  mother,'*  said  Edith  imperiously.  "  I 
have  heard  that  refrain  too  often  already,"  and  the 
resolute  practical  girl  went  to  her  room  and  shut 
herself  up  to  think. 

Two  hours  later  she  came  down  to  lunch  with 
the  determined  air  of  one  who  had  come  to  a  con- 
clusion. 

"  These  bills  must  be  met  or  in  part  at  least," 
she  said,  "  and  the  sooner  the  better.  After  that 
we  must  buy  no  more  than  we  can  pay  for,  if  it's 
only  a  crust  of  bread.  I  shall  take  the  first  train 
to-morrow,  and  dispose  of  some  of  my  jewelry. 
Who  of  you  will  contribute  some  also  ?  We  all 
have  more  than  we  shall  ever  need." 


THE  TEMPTATION.  339 

"  Pawn  our  jewelry ! "  they  all  shrieked. 

"  No,  sell  it,"  said  Edith  firmly. 

"  You  hateful  creature,"  sobbed  Zell,  "  if  Mr. 
Van  Dam  heard  it  he  would  never  come  near  me 
again." 

"  If  he's  that  kind  of  a  man,  he  had  better  not,  * 
was  the  sharp  retort. 

"  I'll  never  forgive  you,  if  you  do  it.  You  shall 
not  spoil  all  my  chances  and  your  own  too.  He  as 
good  as  offered  himself  to  me,  and  I  insist  on  your 
giving  me  a  chance  to  write  to  him  before  you  take 
one  of  your  mad  steps." 

They  all  clamored  against  her  purpose  so  strong- 
ly that  Edith  was  borne  down  and  reluctantly  gave 
way.  Zell  wrote  immediately  a  touching  pathetic 
letter  that  would  have  moved  a  man  of  one  knight- 
ly instinct  to  come  to  her  rescue.  Van  Dam  read 
it  with  a  look  of  fiendish  exultation,  and  calling  on 
Gus,  said, — 

"  We  will  go  up  to-morrow.  The  right  time 
has  come.  They  won't  be  nice  as  to  terms  any 
longer." 

It  was  an  unfortunate  thing  for  Edith  that  she 
had  yielded  at  this  time  to  the  policy  of  waiting 
one  hour  longer.  In  the  two  days  that  intervened 
before  the  young  men  appeared  there  was  time  for 
that  kind  of  thought  that  tempts  and  weakens. 
She  was  in  that  most  dangerous  attitude  of  irreso- 
lutiorj.  The  toilsome  path  of  independent  labor 
looked  very  hard  and  thorny — more  than  that  it 
looked  lonely.  This  latter  aspect  causes  multitudes 


240  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DOt 

to  shrink,  where  the  work  would  not.  She  knew 
enough  of  society  to  feel  sure  that  her  mother  was 
right,  and  that  the  moment  she  entered  on  bread 
winning  by  any  form  of  honest  labor,  her  old  fash- 
ionable world  was  lost  to  her  forever.  And  she 
knew  of  no  other  world,  she  had  no  other  friends 
save  those  of  the  gilded  past.  She  did  not  with 
her  healthful  frame  and  energetic  spirit,  shrink  so 
much  from  labor  as  from  association  with  the  la- 
boring classes.  She  had  been  educated  to  think 
of  them  only  as  coarse  and  common,  and  to  make 
no  distinctions. 

"  Even  if  a  few  are  good  and  intelligent  as  these 
Laceys  seem,  they  can't  understand  my  feelings  and 
past  life,  so  there  will  be  no  congeniality,  and  I 
shall  have  to  work  practically  alone.  Perhaps  in 
time  I  shall  become  coarse  and  common  like  the 
rest,"  she  said  with  a  half  shudder  at  the  thought 
of  old  fashioned  garb,  slipshod  dressing,  and  long 
monotonous  hours  at  one  thing.  All  these  were 
inseparable  in  her  mind  from  poverty  and  labor. 

Then  after  a  long  silence,  during  which  she  had 
sat  with  her  chin  resting  on  her  hands,  she  con- 
tinued,— 

"  I  believe  I  could  stand  it  if  I  could  earn  a 
support  out  of  the  garden  with  such  a  man  as 
Malcom  to  help  me.  There  is  variety  and  beauty 
there,  and  scope  for  constant  improvement.  But 
I  fear  a  woman  can't  make  a  livelihood  by  such  out 
of  door,  man-like  work.  Good  heavens  !  what  will 
my  Fifth  Avenue  friends  say  if  it  should  get  to  theif 


THE  TEMPTATION.  241 

ears  that  Edith  Allen  is  raising  cabbage  for  mar- 
ket." 

Then  in  contrast,  as  the  alternative  to  labor, 
Gus  Elliot  continually  presented  himself. 

"  If  he  were  only  more  of  a  man,'5  she  thought, 
"  but  if  he  loves  so  well  as  to  marry  me  in  view  of 
my  poverty,  he  must  have  some  true  manhood 
about  him.  I  suppose  I  could  learn  to  love  him 
after  a  fashion,  and  I  certainly  like  him  as  well  as 
any  one  I  know.  Perhaps  if  I  were  with  him  to 
cheer,  incite  and  scold,  he  might  become  a  fair 
business  man  after  all." 

And  so  Edith  in  her  helplessness  and  fear  of 
work  was  tempted  to  enter  on  that  forlorn  experi- 
ment which  so  many  energetic  women  of  decided 
character  have  made — that  of  marrying  a  man  who 
can't  stand  alone,  or  do  anything  but  dawdle,  in 
the  hope  that  they  may  be  able  to  infuse  some  of 
their  own  moral  and  intellectual  backbone. 

But  Gus  Elliot  was  not  man  enough,  had  not 
sense  enough,  to  give  her  this  poor  chance  of 
matrimonial  escape  from  labor  that  seemed  to  her 
like  a  giant  taskmaster,  waiting  with  grimy,  horny 
hand  to  claim  her  as  another  of  his  innumerable 
slaves.  Though  a  life  of  lonely,  ill-paid  toil  would 
have  been  better  for  Edith,  than  marriage  to  Gus, 
he  was  missing  the  one  golden  opportunity  of  his 
life,  when  he  thought  of  Edith  Allen  in  other  char- 
acter than  his  wife.  God  uses  instruments,  and 
she  alone  could  give  him  a  chance  of  being  a  man 


242 


WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOt 


among  men.  In  his  meditated  baseness  toward  her, 
he  aimed  a  fatal  blow  at  his  own  life. 

And  this  is  ever  true  of  sins  against  the  human 
brotherhood.  The  recoil  of  a  blow  struck  at 
another's  interests,  has  often  the  vengeful  wrath  of 
heaven  in  it,  and  the  selfish  soul  that  would  de- 
stroy a  fellow-creature  for  its  own  pleasure,  is  it- 
self destroyed. 

False  pride,  false  education,  helpless  unskilled 
hands,  an  untaught,  unbraced  moral  nature,  made 
strong,  resolute,  beautiful  Edith  Allan  so  weak,  so 
untrue  to  herself,  that  she  was  ready  to  throw  her- 
self away  on  so  thin  a  shadow  of  a  man  as  Gus  El- 
liot. She  might  have  known,  indeed  she  half 
feared  that  wretchedness  would  follow  such  a  union. 
It  is  torment  to  a  large  strong-souled  woman  to 
despise  utterly  the  man  to  whom  she  is  chained. 
His  weakness  and  irresolution  nauseates  her,  and 
the  probabilities  are  that  she  will  sink  into  that 
worst  phase  of  feminine  drudgery,  the  supporting 
of  a  husband,  who  though  able,  will  not  work,  and 
become  that  social  monster,  of  whom  it  is  said  with 
a  significant  laugh, — 

"  She  is  the  man  of  the  house.'' 

The  only  thing  that  reconciled  her  to  the 
thought  of  marrying  Gus  was  the  hope  that  she 
could  inspire  him  to  better  things  and  he  seemed 
the  only  refuge  from  the  pressing  troubles  that  en- 
x'ironed  her  and  a  lonely  life  of  labor;  for  the 
thought  that  she  could  bring  herself  to  marry  among 
the  laboring  classes  had  never  occurred  to  her 


THE  TEMPTATION.  343 

So  she  came  to  the  miserable  conclusion  on  the 
afternoon  of  the  second  day, 

"  I'll  take  him  if  he  will  me,  knowing  how  I  am 
situated." — 

If  Gus  could  have  been  true  and  manly  one 
evening  he  might  have  secured  a  prop  that  would 
have  kept  him  up  though  it  would  have  been  at 
sad  cost  to  Edith. 

On  the  afternoon  of  Friday,  Zell  returned  from 
the  village  with  radiant  face,  and  waving  a  letter 
before  Edith  where  she  sat  moping  in  her  room 
exclaimed  with  a  thrill  of  ecstacy  in  her  tone, — 

"  They  are  coming.    Help  make  me  irresistible.'* 

Edith  felt  the  contagion  of  Zell's  excitement, 
and  the  mysteries  of  the  toilet  commenced.  Na- 
ture had  done  much  for  these  girls,  and  they  knew 
how  to  enhance  every  charm  by  art.  Edith  good- 
naturedly  helped  her  sister,  weaving  the  pure 
shimmering  pearls  in  the  heavy  braids  of  her  hair, 
whose  raven  hue  made  the  fair  face  seem  more 
fair.  The  toilet-table  of  a  queen  had  not  the 
secrets  of  Zell's  beauty,  for  the  most  skilful  art 
must  deal  with  the  surface,  while  Zell's  loveliness 
glowed  from  within.  Her  rich  young  blood  man- 
tled her  cheek  with  a  color  that  came  and  went 
with  her  passing  thoughts,  and  was  as  unlike  the 
flaming  unchanging  red  of  a  painted  face,  as  sun- 
light that  flickers  through  a  breezy  grove  differs 
from  a  gas-jet.  Her  eyes  shone  with  the  deep  ex- 
citement of  a  passionate  love,  and  the  feeling  that 
the  crisis  of  her  life  was  near.  Even  Edith  gazed 


244  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOf 

with  wondering  admiration  at  her  beauty,  as  she 
gave  the  finishing  touches  to  her  toilet,  before  she 
commenced  her  own. 

Discarded  Laura  had  a  sorry  part  in  the  poor 
little  play.  She  was  to  be  ill  and  unable  to  appear, 
and  so  resigned  herself  to  a  novel  and  solitude. 
Mrs.  Allen  was  to  discreetly  have  a  headache  and 
retire  early,  and  thus  all  embarrassing  third  par- 
ties should  be  kept  out  of  the  way. 

The  late  afternoon  of  Friday  (unlucky  day  for 
once)  brought  the  gentlemen,  dressed  as  exquisite- 
ly as  ever,  but  the  visions  on  the  rustic  little  porch 
almost  dazzled  even  their  experienced  eyes.  They 
had  seen  these  girls  more  richly  dressed  before  and 
more  radiant.  There  was,  however,  a  delicious 
pensiveness  hanging  over  them  now,  like  those  del- 
icate veils  that  enhance  beauty  and  conceal  noth- 
ing. And  there  was  a  deep  undertone  of  excite- 
ment that  gave  them  a  magnetic  power  that  they 
could  not  have  in  quieter  moods. 

Their  appearance  and  manner  of  greeting  caus- 
ed secret  exultation  in  the  black  hearts  that  they 
expected  would  be  offered  to  them  that  night,  but 
Edith  looked  so  noble  as  well  as  beautiful,  that 
Gus  rather  trembled  in  view  of  his  part  in  the  pro- 
posed tragedy.  As  warm  and  gentle  as  had  been 
her  greeting,  she  did  not  appear  like  a  girl  that 
could  be  safely  trifled  with.  However,  Gus  knew 
his  one  source  of  courage  and  kept  up  on  brandy 
all  day,  and  he  proposed  a  heavier  onslaught  than 
ever  on  poor  Mrs.  Allen's  wine.  But  Edith  did 


THE  TEMPTATION.  245 

not  bring  it  out.  She  meant  that  all  that  was  said 
that  night  should  be  spoken  in  sober  earnest. 

They  sat  down  to  cards  for  a  while  after  tea, 
during  which  conversation  was  rather  forced,  con- 
sisting  mainly  of  extravagant  compliments  from 
the  gentlemen,  and  tender,  meaning  glances  which 
the  girls  did  not  resent.  Mrs.  Allen  languidly 
joined  them  for  a  while,  and  excused  herself  say- 
ing,— 

"  Her  poor  head  had  been  too  heavily  taxed 
of  late,"  though  how,  save  as  a  small  distillery  of 
helpless  tears,  we  do  not  remember. 

The  regret  of  the  young  men  at  being  depriv- 
ed of  her  society  was  quite  affecting  in  view  of 
the  fact  that  they  had  often  wished  her  dead  and 
out  of  the  way. 

"  Why  should  we  shut  ourselves  up  within 
walls  this  lovely  spring  evening,  this  delicious  earn- 
est of  the  coming  summer,"  said  Mr.  Van  Dam  to 
Zell.  "  Come,  put  on  your  shawl  and  show  me  your 
garden  by  moonlight." 

Zell  exultingly  complied,  believing  that  now 
she  would  show  him,  not  their  poor  little  garden, 
but  the  paradise  of  requited  love.  A  moment  later 
her  graceful  form,  bending  like  a  willow  toward 
him,  vanished  in  the  dusky  light  of  the  rising 
moon,  down  the  garden  path  which  led  to  the  little 
arbor. 

Gus  having  the  parlor  to  himself,  went  over  to 
the  sofa,  seated  himself  by  the  side  of  Edith  and 
Bought  to  pass  his  arm  around  her  waist. 


246  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DOf 

"  You  have  no  right,"  again  said  Edith  with 
dignity,  shrinking  away. 

"  But  will  you  not  give  the  right  ?  Behold  me 
a  suppliant  at  your  feet,"  said  Gus  tenderly,  but 
comfortably  keeping  his  seat. 

"  Mr.  Elliot,"  said  Edith  earnestly, "  do  you  real- 
ize that  you  are  asking  a  poor  girl  to  marry  you  ?  " 

"  Your  own  beautiful  self  is  beyond  all  gold,'* 
said  Gus  gushingly. 

"  You  did  not  think  so  a  month  ago,"  retorted 
Edith  bitterly. 

"  I  was  a  fool.  My  friends  discouraged  it,  but 
I  find  I  cannot  live  without  you." 

This  sounded  well  to  poor  Edith,  but  she  said 
half  sadly,— 

"  Perhaps  your  friends  are  right.  You  cannot 
afford  to  marry  me." 

"  But  I  cannot  give  you  up,"  said  Gus  with 
much  show  of  feeling.  "  What  would  my  life  be 
without  you  ?  "  I  admit  to  you  that  my  friends  are 
opposed  to  my  marriage,  but  am  I  to  blight  my  life 
for  them  ?  Am  I,  who  have  seen  the  best  of  New 
York  for  years,  to  give  up  the  loveliest  girl  I  have 
ever  seen  in  it  ?  I  cannot  and  I  will  not,''  con. 
eluded  Gus  tragically. 

"  And  are  you  willing  to  give  up  all  for  me  ?  " 
said  Edith  feelingly,  her  glorious  eyes  becoming 
gentle  and  tender. 

"Yes,  if  you  will  give  up  all  for  me,"  said  Gus 
languishingly,  taking  her  hand  and  drawing  hef 
toward  him. 


THE  TEMPTATION.  247 

Edith  did  not  resist  now,  but  leaned  her  head 
on  his  shoulder  with  the  blessed  sense  of  rest  and 
at  least  partial  security.  Her  cruelly  harassed 
heart  and  burdened,  threatened  life  could  welcome 
even  such  poor  shelter  as  Gus  Elliot  offered. 
The  spring  evening  was  mild  and  breathless  and 
its  hush  and  peace  seemed  to  accord  with  her 
feelings.  There  was  no  ecstatic  thrilling'  of  her 
heart  in  the  divine  rapture  of  mutual  and  open 
recognition  of  love,  for  no  such  love  existed  on 
her  part.  It  was  only  a  languid  feeling  of  con- 
tentment, moon-lighted  with  sentiment,  not  sun- 
lighted  with  joy,  that  she  had  found  some  one 
who  would  not  leave  her  to  labor  and  struggle 
alone. 

"  Gus,"  she  said  pathetically,  "  we  are  very  poor, 
vre  have  nothing.  We  are  almost  desperate  from 
want.  Think  twice  ere  you  engage  yourself  to  a 
girl  so  situated.  Are  you  able  to  thus  burden 
yourself?  " 

Gus  thought  these  words  led  the  way  to  the 
carrying  out  of  Van  Dam's  instructions,  for  he  said 
eagerly, — 

"  I  know  how  you  are  situated.  I  learned  all 
from  Zell's  letter  to  Van  Dam,  but  our  hearts  only 
cling  the  closer  to  you,  and  you  must  let  me  take 
care  of  you  at  once.  If  you  will  only  consent  to  a 
secret  marriage  I  can  manage  it." 

Edith  slowly  raised  her  head  from  his  shoulder 
Gus  could  not  meet  her  eyes,  but  felt  them  search- 
uigly  on  his  face.  There  was  a  distant  mutter  of 


248  w  HA  T  CAN  SHE  D0? 

thunder  like  a  warning  voice.  He  continued  hur« 
riedly, — 

"  I  think  you  will  agree  with  me,  when  you  think 
of  it,  that  such  a  marriage  would  be  best.  It 
would  be  hard  for  me  to  break  with  my  family  at 
once.  Indeed  I  could  not  afford  to  anger  my  father 
nowk  But  I  would  soon  get  established  in  business 
myself,  and  I  would  work  so  hard  if  I  knew  that 
you  were  dependent  on  me." 

"  Then  you  would  wish  me  to  remain  here 
in  obscurity  your  wife,"  said  Edith  in  a  low  con- 
strained tone  that  Gus  did  not  quite  like. 

"  Oh,  no,  not  for  the  world,"  replied  Gus  hur- 
riedly. "  It  is  because  I  so  long  for  your  daily  and 
hourly  presence  that  I  urge  you  to  come  to  the 
city  at  once." 

"  What  is  your  plan  then  ?  "  asked  Edith  in  the 
same  low  tone. 

"  Go  with  me  to  the  city,  on  the  boat  that 
passes  here  in  the  evening.  I  will  see  that  you  are 
lodged  where  you  will  have  every  comfort,  yes 
luxury.  We  can  there  be  quietly  married,  and 
when  the  right  time  comes,  we  can  openly  acknowl- 
edge it." 

There  was  a  trcrnble  in  Edith's  voice  when  she 
again  spoke,  it  might  be  from  feeling,  mere  excite- 
ment, or  anger.  At  any  rate  Gus  grew  more  and 
more  uncomfortable.  He  had  a  vague  feeling  that 
Edith  suspected  his  falseness,  and  that  her  seem- 
ing calmness  might  presage  a  storm,  and  he  found 
it  impossible  to  meet  her  full  searching  gaze, 


THE  TEMPTATION  249 

feaiing  that  his  face  would  betray  him.  He  \vaa 
bad  enough  for  his  project,  but  not  quite  brazen 
enough. 

She  detached  herself  from  his  encircling  arm, 
went  to  a  book-stand  near  and  took  from  it  a  richly 
bound  Bible.  With  this  she  came  and  stood  before 
Gus  who  was  half  trembling  with  fear  and  perplexi- 
ty, and  said  in  a  tone  so  grave  and  solemn,  that 
his  weak  impressible  nature  was  deeply  moved, — 

"  Mr.  Elliot,  perhaps  I  do  not  understand  you. 
I  have  received  several  offers  before,  but  never  one 
like  yours  this  evening.  Indeed  I  need  not  re- 
mind you  that  you  have  spoken  to  me  in  a  differ- 
ent vein.  I  know  circumstances  have  greatly 
altered  with  me.  That  I  am  no  longer  the 
daughter  of  a  millionaire,  I  am  learning  to  my  sor- 
row, but  I  am  the  same  Edith  Allen  that  you  knew 
of  old.  I  would  not  like  to  misjudge  you,  one  of 
my  oldest,  most  intimate  friends  of  the  happy  past. 
And  yet,  as  I  have  said.  I  do  not  quite  understand 
your  offer.  Place  your  hand  on  this  sacred  book 
with  me,  and  as  you  hope  for  God's  mercy,  answer 
me  this  truly.  Would  you  wish  your  own  sister  to 
accept  such  an  offer,  if  she  were  situated  like  my- 
self? Look  me,  an  honest  girl  with  all  my  faults 
and  poverty,  in  the  face,  and  tell  me  as  a  true 
brother." 

Gus  felt  himself  in  an  awful  dilemma.  Some- 
thing in  Edith's  solemn  tone  and  manner  convin- 
ced him  that  both  he  and  Van  Dam  had  misjudged 
her.  His  knees  trembled  so  that  he  could  scarcely 
n* 


250  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOt 

rise.  A  fascination  that  he  could  not  resist  drevr 
his  face,  stamped  with  guilt,  toward  her,  and  slowly 
he  raised  his  fearful  eyes  and  for  a  moment  met 
Edith's  searching,  questioning  gaze,  then  dropped 
them  in  confusion. 

"  Why  do  you  not  put  your  hand  on  the  book 
and  speak?"  she  asked  in  the  low  concentrated 
voice  of  passion. 

Again  he  looked  hurriedly  at  her.  A  flash  of 
lightning  illumined  her  features,  and  he  quailed 
before  an  expression  such  as  he  had  never  seen  be- 
fore  on  any  woman's  face. 

"I— I— cannot,"  he  faltered. 

The  Bible  dropped  from  her  hands,  they  clasp- 
ed, and  for  a  moment  she  seemed  to  writhe  in  ag- 
ony, and  in  a  low  shuddering  tone  she  said, — 

"  There  are  none  to  trust — not  one." 

Then  as  if  possessed  by  a  sudden  fury,  she  seiz- 
ed him  roughly  by  the  arm  and  said  hoarsely, — 

"  Speak,  man,  what  then  did  you  mean  ?  What 
have  all  your  tender  speeches  and  caressing  actions 
meant?" 

Her  face  grew  livid  with  rage  and  shame  as  the 
truth  dawned  upon  her,  while  poor  feeble  Gus  lost 
his  poise  utterly  and  stood  like  a  detected  criminal 
before  her. 

"  You  asked  me  to  marry  you,"  she  hissed. 
"  Must  no  one  ask  your  immaculate  sisters  to  do 
this,  that  you  could  not  answer  my  simple  ques- 
tion? Or,  did  you  mean  something  else?  How 
dare  you  exist  longer  in  the  semblance  of  a  man  ? 


THE  TEMPTATION. 


251 


Vou  have  broken  the  sacred  law  of  hospitality,  and 
here  in  my  little  home  that  has  sheltered  you,  you 
purpose  my  destruction.  You  take  mean  advan- 
tage of  my  poverty  and  trouble,  and  like  a  coward- 
ly hunter  must  seek  out  a  wounded  doe  as  your 
game.  My  grief  and  misfortune  should  have  made 
a  sanctuary  about  me,  but  the  orphaned  and  un- 
fortunate, God's  trust  to  all  true  men,  only  invite 
your  evil  designs,  because  defenceless.  Wretch, 
would  you  have  made  me  this  offer  if  my  father 
had  lived,  or  if  I  had  a  brother?" 

"  It's  all  Van  Dam's  work,  curse  him,"  groaned 
Gus,  white  as  a  ghost. 

"Van  Dam's  work!"  shrieked  Edith,  "and 
he's  with  Zell !  So  this  is  a  conspiracy.  You  both 
are  the  flower  of  chivalry,"  and  her  mocking,  half- 
hysterical  laugh  curdled  Gus'  blood,  as  her  dress 
fluttered  down  the  path  that  led  to  the  arbor. 

She  appeared  in  the  doonvay  like  a  sudden, 
supernatural  vision.  Zell's  head  rested  on  Mr. 
Van  Dam's  shoulder,  and  he  was  portraying  in 
low  ardent  tones  the  pleasures  of  city  life,  which 
would  be  hers  as  his  wife. 

"  It  is  true,"  he  had  said,  "  our  marriage  must 
be  secret  for  the  present.  You  must  learn  to  trust 
me.  But  the  time  will  soon  come  when  I  can  ac- 
knowledge you  as  my  peerless  bride." 

Foolish  little  Zell  was  too  eager  to  escape,  pres- 
ent miseries  to  be  nice  and  critical  as  to  the  con- 
ditions, and  too  much  in  love,  too  young  and  un- 
suspecting to  doubt  the  man  who  had  petted  hei 


252  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOt 

from  a  child.  She  agreed  to  do  anything  he 
thought  best. 

Then  Edith's  entrance  and  terrible  words  broke 
her  pretty  dream  in  fragments. 

Snatching  her  sister  from  Van  Dam's  embrace, 
she  cried  passionately, — 

"  Leave  this  place.  Your  villany  is  discover- 
ed." 

"  Really,  Miss  Edith" — began  Van  Dam  with  a 
poor  show  of  dignity. 

"  Leave  instantly !  "  cried  Edith  imperiously, 
"  Do  you  wish  me  to  strike  you  ?  " 

"  Edith,  are  you  mad?"  cried  Zell. 

"  Your  sister  must  have  lost  her  reason,"  said 
Van  Dam,  approaching  Zell. 

"  Stand  back,"  cried  Edith  sternly.  "  I  may 
go  mad  before  this  hateful  night  passes,  but  while 
I  have  strength  and  reason  left,  I  will  drive  the 
wolves  from  our  fold.  Answer  me  this:  have  you 
not  been  proposing  secret  marriage  to  my  sister?" 

Her  face  looked  spirit-like  in  the  pale  moonlight 
and  her  eyes  blazed  like  coals  of  fire.  As  she  stood 
there  with  her  arm  around  her  bewildered  trembling 
sister,  she  seemed  a  guardian  angel  holding  a  baf- 
fled fiend  at  bay. 

This  was  literally  true,  for  even  hardened  Van 
Dam  quailed  before  her,  and  took  refuge  in  the 
usual  resource  of  his  satanic  ally — lies. 

"  I  assure  you,  Miss  Edith,  you  do  me  great  in- 
justice. I  have  only  asked  your  sister  that  out 
marriage  be  private  for  a  time — " 


THE   TEMPTATION. 


253 


"  The  same  wretched  bait — the  same  transpa- 
rent falsehood,"  'Edith  cried.  "  We  cannot  be 
married  openly  at  our  own  home,  but  must  go 
away  with  you,  two  spotless  knights,  to  New  York, 
Do  you  take  us  for  silly  fools  ?  You  know  well 
what  the  world  would  say  of  ladies  that  so  com- 
promised themselves,  and  no  true  man  would  ask 
this  of  a  woman  he  meant  to  make  his  wife. 
These  premises  are  mine.  Leave  them." 

Van  Dam  was  an  old  villain  who  had  lived  life- 
long in  the  atmosphere  of  brawls  and  intrigue, 
therefore  he  said  brazenly, — 

"  There  is  no  use  of  wasting  words  on  an  angry 
woman.  Zell,  my  darling,  do  me  justice.  Don't 
give  me  up,  as  I  never  shall  you,"  and  he  vanished 
on  the  road  toward  the  village,  where  Gus  was 
skulking  on  before  him. 

"  You  weak  unmitigated  fool,"  said  he  savagely, 
"  why  did  I  bring  you  ? '' 

"  Look  here,  Van  Dam,"  whined  Gus,  "  that 
isn't  the  way  to  speak  to  a  gentleman." 

"  Gentleman !  ha,  ha,"  laughed  Van  Dam  bit- 
terly. 

"  I  be  hanged  if  I  feel  like  one  to-night.  A 
pretty  scrape  you  have  got  me  into,"  snarled  Gus. 

"  Well,"  said  Van  Dam  cynically.  "  I  thought  I 
was  too  old  to  learn  much  more,  but  you  may  shoot 
me  if  I  ever  go  on  a  lark  again  with  one  of  your 
weak  villains  who  is  bad  enough  for  anything,  but 
has  brains  enough  only  to  get  found  out.  If  it 
hadn't  been  for  you  I  would  have  carried  my  point. 


254  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOf 

And  I  will  yet,"  he  added  with  an  oath.  "  I  never 
give  up  the  game  I  have  once  started.'' 

And  so  they  plodded  on  with  mutual  revilings 
and  profanity,  till  Gus  became  afraid  of  Van  Dam, 
and  was  silent. 

The  dark  cloud  that  had  risen  unnoted  in  the 
south,  like  the  slowly  gathering  and  impending 
wrath  of  God,  now  broke  upon  them  in  sudden 
gusts,  and  then  chased  them  with  pelting  torrents 
of  rain  and  stinging  hail,  into  the  village.  The  sin- 
wrought  chaos — the  hellish  discord  of  their  evil 
natures  seemed  to  have  infected  the  peaceful  spring 
evening,  for  now  the  very  spirit  of  the  storm  ap- 
peared abroad.  The  rush  and  roar  of  the  wind  was 
so  strong,  the  lightning  so  vivid,  and  the  crashing 
thunder  peals  overhead  so  terrific,  that  even  hard- 
ened Van  Dam  was  awed,  and  Gus  was  so  frighten- 
ed and  conscience  smitten,  that  he  could  scarcely 
keep  up  with  his  companion,  but  shuddered  at  the 
thought  of  being  left  alone. 

At  last  they  reached  the  tavern,  roused  the 
startled  landlord  and  obtained  welcome  shelter. 

"  What !  "  he  said,  "  are  the  boys  after  you  ?  n 

"  No,  no,"  said  Van  Dam  impatiently,  "  the 
devil  is  after  us  in  this  infernal  storm.  Give  us 
two  rooms,  a  fire,  and  some  brandy  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible, and  charge  what  you  please.'' 

When  Gus  viewed  himself  in  the  mirror,  as  he 
at  once  did  from  long  habit,  his  haggard  face, 
drenched,  mud-splashed  form,  awakened  sincere 
self  commiseration  ;  and  his  stained,  bedraggled 


THE  TEMPTATION.  255 

clothes  troubled  him  more  than  his  soiled  character. 
He  did  not  remember  the  time  when  he  had  not 
been  well  dressed,  and  to  be  so  was  his  religion — 
the  sacred  instinct  of  his  life.  Therefore  he  was 
inexpressibly  shocked,  and  almost  ready  to  cry,  as 
he  saw  his  forlorn  reflection  in  the  glass.  And  he 
had  no  change  with  him.  What  should  he  do  ?  All 
other  phases  of  the  disastrous  night  were  lost  in 
this. 

"  There  is  nothing  to  be  bought  in  this  mean 
little  town,  and  how  can  I  go  to  the  city  in  this 
plight,"  he  anxiously  queried. 

"  Go  to  the  devil  then,"  and  the  sympathetic 
Van  Dam  wrapped  himself  up  and  went  to  sleep. 

Gus  worked  fussily  at  his  clothes  till  a  late  hour, 
devoutly  hoping  he  would  meet  no  one  that  he 
knew  before  reaching  his  dressing-room  in  New 
York. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

BLACK  HANNIBAL'S  WHITE  HEART. 

J7  DITH  half  led,  half  carried  her  sobbing  sister  to 
the  parlor.  Mrs.  Allen,  no  longer  languid,  and 
Laura  from  her  exile,  were  already  there,  and  gath- 
ered with  dismayed  faces  around  the  sofa  where 
she  placed  Zell. 

"What  has  happened?"  asked  Mrs.  Allen 
tremblingly. 

Edith's  self-control,  now  that  her  enemies  were 
gone,  gave  way  utterly,  and  sinking  on  the  floor, 
she  swayed  back  and  forth,  sobbing  even  more  hys- 
terically than  Zell,  and  her  mother  and  Laura,  op- 
pressed with  the  sense  of  some  new  impending  dis- 
aster, caught  the  contagion  of  their  bitter  grief,  and 
wept  and  wrung  their  hands  also. 

The  frightened  maid  stood  in  one  door,  with  her 
white  questioning  face,  and  old  grey-haired  Hanni- 
bal in  another  with  streaming  eyes  of  honest  sym- 
pathy. 

"  Speak,  speak,  what  is  the  matter  ?  "  almost 
shrieked  Mrs.  Allen. 

Edith  could  not  speak,  but  Zell  sobbed,  "  I 
— don't — know.  Edith- -seems  to  have — gone — 
mad." 


BLACK  HANNIBAL'S  WHITE  HEART.        2$? 

At   last,  after  the   application    of  restoratives 
Edith  so  far  recovered  herself  to  say  brokenly, — 
"  We've     been     betrayed —  they're —  villains. 
They  never — meant — marriage  at  all." 

"  That's  false !  "  screamed  Zell.  "  I  won't  be- 
lieve it  of  my  lover,  whatever  may  have  been  true 
of  your  mean  little  Gus  Elliot.  He  promised  to 
marry  me,  and  you  have  spoiled  everything  by 
your  mad  folly.  I'll  never  forgive  you." — When 
Zell's  wild  fury  would  have  ceased,  cannot  be  said, 
but  a  new  voice  startled  and  awed  them  into  silence. 
In  the  storm  of  sorrow  and  passion  that  raged  with- 
in, the  outer  storm  had  risen  unnoted,  but  now  an 
awful  peal  of  thunder  broke  over  their  heads  and 
rolled  away  among  the  hills  in  deep  reverberations. 
Another  and  louder  crash  soon  followed,  and  a  sol- 
emn expectant  silence  fell  upon  them  akin  to  that 
when  the  noisy  passionate  world  will  suddenly 
cease  its  clamor  as  the  trump  of  God  proclaims 
the  end. 

"Merciful  heaven,  we  shall  be  struck,"  said  Mrs. 
Allen  shudderingly. 

"  What's  the  use  of  living?''  said  Zell  in  a  hard 
reckless  tone. 

"What  is  there  to  live  for?"  sighed  Edith, 
deep  in  her  heart.  "  There  are  none  to  be  trusted 
—not  one.'5 

Instead  of  congratulations  received  with  blur-h 
ing  happiness,  and  solitaire  engagement  rings,  thus 
is  shown  the  first  result  of  Mrs.  Allen's  policy,  and 
of  society's  injunction, — 


258  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DO f 

"  Keep  your  hands  white,  my  dears." 

The  storm  passed  away,  and  they  crept  off  to 
such  poor  rest  as  they  could  get,  too  miserable  to 
speak,  and  too  worn  to  renew  the  threatened  quar- 
rel that  a  voice  from  heaven  seemingly  had  inter- 
rupted. 

The  next  morning  they  gathered  at  a  late  break- 
fast table  with  haggard  faces  and  swollen  eyes. 
Zell  looked  hard  and  sullen,  Edith's  face  was  so 
determined  in  its  expression  as  to  be  stern.  Mrs. 
Allen  lamented  feebly  and  indefinitely,  Laura  only 
appeared  more  settled  in  her  apathy,  and  with  Zell 
and  Edith,  was  utterly  silent  through  the  forlorn 
meal. 

After  it  was  over,  Zell  went  up  to  her  room  and 
Edith  followed  her.  Zell  had  not  spoken  to  her 
sister  since  the  thunder  peal  had  suddenly  checked 
her  bitter  words.  Edith  dreaded  the  alienation 
she  saw  in  Zell's  face,  and  felt  wronged  by  it, 
knowing  that  she  had  only  acted  as  truest  friend 
and  protector.  But  in  order  still  to  shield  her 
sister  she  must  secure  her  confidence,  or  else  the 
danger  averted  the  past  evening,  would  threaten 
as  grimly  as  ever.  She  also  realized  how  essential 
Zell's  help  would  be  in  the  struggle  for  bread  on 
which  they  must  enter,  and  wished  to  obtain  her 
hearty  cooperation  in  some  plan  of  work.  She  saw 
that  labor  now  was  inevitable,  and  must  be  com- 
menced immediately.  From  Laura  she  hoped 
little.  She  seemed  so  lacking  in  force  mentally  and 
physically,  since  their  troubles  began,  that  9"^ 


BLACK  HANNIBAL'S  WHITE  HEART.       259 

feared  nothing  could  arouse  her.  She  threatened 
soon  to  become  an  invalid  like  her  mother.  The 
thought  of  help  from  the  latter,  did  not  even  occur 
to  her. 

Edith  had  not  slept,  and  as  the  chaos  and  bit- 
terness of  the  past  evening's  experience  passed 
away,  her  practical  mind  began  to  concentrate  it- 
self on  the  problem  of  support.  Her  disappoint- 
ment had  not  been  so  severe  as  that  of  Zell,  by  any 
means,  and  so  she  was  in  a  condition  to  rally  much 
sooner.  She  had  never  much  more  than  liked  El- 
liot, and  now  the  very  thought  of  him  was  nauseat- 
ing, and  though  labor  and  want  might  be  hard  in- 
deed, and  regret  for  all  they  had  lost  keen,  still 
she  was  spared  the  bitterer  pain  of  a  hopeless  love. 

But  it  was  just  this  that  Zell  feared,  and  though 
she  repeated  to  herself  over  and  over  again  Van 
Dam's  last  words,  "  I  will  never  give  you  up,"  she 
feared  that  he  would,  or  what  would  be  equally 
painful,  she  would  be  compelled  to  give  him  up,  for 
she  could  not  disguise  it  from  herself  that  her  con- 
fidence had  been  shaken. 

But  sincere  love  is  slow  to  believe  evil  of  its  ob- 
ject. If  Van  Dam  had  shown  preference  for  anoth- 
er, Zell's  jealousy  and  anger  would  have  known  no 
bounds,  but  this  he  had  never  done,  and  she  could 
not  bring  herself  to  believe  that  the  man  whom  she 
had  known  since  childhood,  who  had  always  treat- 
ed her  with  uniform  kindness  and  most  flattering 
attention,  who  had  partaken  of  their  hospitality  so 
often  and  intimately  that  he  almost  seemed  like 


260  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOt 

one  of  the  family,  meditated  the  basest  evil  against 
her. 

"  Gus  Elliot  is  capable  of  any  meanness,  but 
Edith  was  mistaken  about  my  friend.  And  yet 
Edith  has  so  insulted  him,  that  I  fear  he  will 
never  come  to  the  house  again,''  she  said  with  deep 
resentment.  "  If  I  had  declined  a  private  mar- 
riage, I  am  sure  he  would  have  married  me  openly." 

Therefore  when  Edith  entered  their  little  room 
Zell's  face  was  averted  and  there  was  every  evi- 
dence of  estrangement.  Edith  meant  to  be  kind 
and  considerate,  and  patiently  show  the  reasons 
for  her  action. 

She  sat  down  and  took  her  sister's  cold  impas- 
sive hand,  saying, — 

"  Zell,  did  I  not  help  you  dress  in  *his  very  place 
last  evening  ?  Did  I  not  wait  against  my  judgment 
till  Mr.  Van  Dam  came?  These  things  prove  to 
you  that  I  would  not  put  a  straw  between  you  and 
a  true  lover.  Surely  we  have  trouble  enough  with- 
out adding  the  bitter  one  of  division  and  estrange- 
ment. If  we  don't  stand  by  each  other  now  what 
will  become  of  us?5' 

"What  right  had  you  to  misjudge  Mr.  Van 
Dam  by  such  a  mean  little  scamp  as  Gus  Elliot  ? 
Why  did  you  not  give  him  a  chance  to  explain 
himself?  " 

"  Oh  Zell,  Zell,  how  can  you  be  so  blinded  ? 
Did  he  not  ask  you  to  go  away  with  him  in  the 
night — to  elope,  and  then  submit  to  a  secret  mar 
riage  in  New  York?" 


BLACK  HANNIBAL'S  WHITE  HEART        261 

"  Well,  he  told  me  there  were  good  reasons  that 
made  such  a  course  necessary  at  present." 

"  Are  you  George  Allen's  daughter  that  you 
could  even  listen  to  such  a  proposal?  When  you 
lived  on  Fifth  Avenue  would  he  have  dared  to  have 
even  faintly  suggested  such  a  thing  ?  Can  he  be  a 
true  lover  who  insults  you  to  begin  with,  and,  in 
view  of  your  misfortunes,  instead  of  showing 
manly  delicacy  and  desire  to  shield,  demands  not 
only  hard  but  indecent  conditions?  Even  if  he 
purposed  to  marry  you,  what  right  has  he  to  re- 
quire of  you  such  indelicate  action  as  would  make 
your  name  a  byword  and  hissing  among  all  your 
old  acquaintances,  and  a  lasting  stain  to  your  family  ? 
They  would  not  receive  you  with  respect  again, 
though  some  might  tolerate  you  and  point  you  out 
as  tlve  girl  so  desperate  for  a  husband,  that  you 
submitted  to  the  grossest  indignity  to  get  one." 

Zell  hung  her  head  in  shame  and  anger  under 
Edith's  inexorable  logic,  but  the  anger  was  now 
turning  against  Van  Dam.  Edith  continued, — 

"A  lady  should  be  sought  and  won.  It  is  for 
her  to  set  the  place  and  time  of  the  wedding,  and 
dictate  the  conditions.  It  is  for  her  to  say  who 
shall  be  present  and  who  absent,  and  woman,  to 
whom  a  spotless  name  is  everything,  has  the  right, 
which  even  savage  tribes  recognize,  to  shield  her- 
self  from  the  faintest  imputation  of  immodesty  by 
compelling  her  suitor  to  comply  with  the  estab- 
lished custom  and  etiquette  which  are  her  safe- 
guards. The  daughter  of  a  poor  laborer  would 


262  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DO  * 

demand  all  this  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  shall  the 
beautiful  Zell  Allen,  who  has  had  scores  of  admi- 
rers, have  all  this  reversed  in  her  case,  and  be  com- 
pelled to  skulk  away  from  the  home  in  which  she 
should  be  openly  married,  to  hunt  up  a  man  at 
night  who  has  made  the  pitiful  promise  that  he 
will  marry  her  somewhere  at  sometime  or  other, 
on  condition  that  no  one  shall  know  it  till  he  is 
ready?  Mark  it  well,  the  man  who  so  insults  a 
lady  and  all  her  family,  never  means  to  marry  her, 
or  else  he  is  so  coarse  and  brutal  in  all  his  instincts, 
that  no  decent  woman  ought  to  marry  him." 

"  Say  no  more,"  said  Zell  in  a  low  tone,  "  I 
fear  you  are  right,  though  I  would  rather  die  than 
believe  it.  O,  Edith,  Edith!"  she  cried  in  sudden 
passionate  grief.  "  My  heart  is  broken.  I  loved 
him  so.  I  could  have  been  so  happy." 

Edith  took  her  in  her  arms  and  they  cried 
together.  At  last  Zell  said  languidly: 

"What  can  we  do?" 

"  We  must  go  to  work  like  other  poor  people. 
If  we  had  only  done  so  at  first  and  saved  every 
dollar  we  had  left,  we  would  not  now  be  in  our 
present  deeply  embarrassed  condition.  And  yet 
Zell,  if  you,  with  your  vigor  and  strength,  will 
only  stand  by  me,  and  help  your  best,  we  will  see 
bright  days  yet.  There  must  be  some  way  by 
which  two  girls  can  make  a  livelihood  here  in 
Pushton,  as  elsewhere.  We  have  at  least  a  shelter, 
and  I  have  great  hopes  of  the  garden." 

"I  don't  like  a  garden.     I  fear  I  couldn't  do 


BLACK  HANNIBAL'S  WHITE  HEART.        263 

much  there.  And  it  seems  like  man's  work  too. 
I  fear  I  shall  be  too  wretched  and  ignorant  to  do 
anything." 

"  Not  at  all.  Youth,  health,  and  time,  against 
all  the  troubles  of  the  world.  (This  was  the  best 
creed  poor  Edith  then  had.)  Now,"  she  contin- 
ued, encouragingly,  "  You  like  housework.  Of 
course  we  must  dismiss  our  servants,  and  if  you 
did  the  work  of  the  house  with  Laura,  so  that  I 
had  all  my  time  for  something  else,  it  would  be  a 
great  saving  and  help." 

"Oh,  dear!  oh,  dear!  that  we  should  ever 
come  to  this!"  said  Zell  despairingly. 

"We  have  come  to  it,  and  must  face  the 
truth." 

"Well,  of  course  111  try,"  said  Zell  with  some- 
thing of  Laura's  apathy.  Then  with  a  sudden  burst 
of  passion  she  clenched  her  little  hands  and  cried  : 

"  I  hate  him,  the  cold-hearted  wretch,  to  treat 
his  poor  little  Zell  so  shamefully!  "  and  she  paced 
up  and  down  the  room  with  inflamed  eyes  and 
cheeks.  Then  in  equally  sudden  revulsion  she 
threw  herself  down  on  the  floor  with  her  head  in 
her  sister's  lap,  and  murmured,  "  God  forgive  me, 
I  love  him  still — I  love  him  with  my  whole  heart," 
and  sobbed  till  all  her  strength  was  gone. 

Edith  sighed  deeply.  "Can  she  ever  be  de- 
pended on?"  she  thought.  At  last  she  lifted  the 
languid  form  on  the  bed,  threw  over  her  an  af- 
ghan  and  bathed  her  head  with  cologne  till  the 
poor  child  fell  asleep. 


264  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DO  f 

Then  she  went  down  to  Laura  and  her  mother, 
to  whom  she  explained  more  fully  the  events  of 
last  evening.  Laura  only  muttered,  "shameful," 
but  Mrs.  Allen  whined,  "  She  could  not  understand 
it.  Girls  didn't  know  how  to  manage  any  longer 
There  must  be  some  misunderstanding,  for  no 
young  men  in  the  city  could  have  meant  to  offer 
such  an  insult  to  an  old  and  respectable  family 
like  theirs.  She  never  heard  of  such  a  thing.  If 
she  could  only  have  been  present — " 

"Hush,  mother,"  said  Edith  almost  sternly. 
"  It's  all  past  now.  I  should  gladly  believe  that 
when  you  were  a  young  lady,  such  poor  villains 
were  not  in  good  society.  Moreover,  such  offers 
are  not  made  to  young  ladies  living  on  the  Avenue. 
This  is  more  properly  a  case  for  shooting  than 
management.  I  have  no  patience  to  talk  any 
more  about  it.  We  must  now  try  to  conform  to 
our  altered  circumstances,  and  at  least  maintain 
our  self-respect,  and  secure  the  comforts  of  life  if 
possible.  But  we  must  now  practice  the  closest 
economy.  Laura,  you  will  have  to  be  mother's 
maid,  for  of  course  we  can  keep  no  servants.  I 
have  a  little  money  left,  and  will  pay  your  maid 
to-day  and  let  her  go." 

"  I  don't  see  how  I  can  get  along  without  her," 
said  Mrs.  Allen  helplessly. 

"You  must,"  said  Edith  firmly.  "We  have  no 
money  to  pay  her  any  longer,  and  your  daughters 
will  try  to  supply  her  place." 

Mrs.  Allen  did  not  formally  abdicate  her  natural 


BLACK  HANNIBAL'S  WHITE  HEART.        265 

position  as  head  of  the  family,  but  in  the  hour  of 
almost  shipwreck,  Edith  took  the  helm  out  of  the 
feeble  hands.  Yet  the  young  girl  had  little  to 
guide  her,  no  knowledge  and  experience  worth 
mentioning,  and  the  sea  was  rough  and  beset  with 
danger. 

The  maid  had  no  regrets  at  departure,  and 
went  away  with  something  of  the  satisfaction  of  a 
rat  leaving  a  sinking  ship.  But  with  old  Hannibal 
it  was  a  different  affair. 

"  You  aint  gwine  to  send  me  away  too,  is  you, 
Miss  Edie  ?  "  said  he,  with  the  accent  of  dismay* 

"  My  good  old  friend,"  said  Edith  feelingly, 
"  the  only  friend  I'm  sure  of  in  this  great  world 
full  of  people,  I  fear  I  must.  We  can't  afford  to 
pay  you  even  half  what  you  are  worth  any  longer." 

"  I'se  sure  I  doesn't  eat  such  a  mighty  lot," 
Hannibal  sniffled  out. 

"  Oh,  I  hope  we  won't  reach  starvation  point," 
Enid  Edith,  smiling  in  spite  of  her  sore  heart.  "  But 
Hannibal,  you  are  a  valuable  servant,  besides,  there 
are  plenty  of  rich  upstarts  who  would  give  you 
anything  you  would  ask,  just  to  have  you  come 
and  give  an  old  and  aristocratic  air  to  their  freshly- 
gilded  mansions.'' 

"  Miss  Edie,  you  doesn't  know  nothin  'tall  about 
my  feelins.  What's  money  to  ole  Hannibal !  I'se 
lived  among  de  millionaires  and  knows  all  about 
money.  It  only  buys  half  of  'em  a  heap  of  trouble 
and  doesn't  keep  dare  hearts  from  gettin  sore. 
When  Massa  Allen  was  a  livin',  he  [aid  me  big, 
ra 


266  W1IA  T  CAN  SHE  DO  t 

and  gave  me  all  de  money  I  wanted,  and  if  he,  at 
last,  lost  my  money  which  he  keep,  it's  no  more'n 
he  did  with  his  own.  And  now,  Miss  Edie,  I  toted 
you  and  you'se  sisters  round  on  my  shoulder  when 
you'se  was  babies,  and  I  haint  got  nothin'  left  but 
you,  no  friends,  no  nothin' ;  and  if  you  send  me 
away,  it's  like  goin'  out  into  de  wilderness.  What 
'ud  I  do  in  some  strange  man's  big  house,  when 
my  heart's  here  in  de  little  house?  My  heart  is 
all  ole  Hannibal  has  left,  if  'tis  black,  and  if  you 
send  me  away  you'se  break  it.  I'd  a  heap  rather 
stay  here  in  Bushtown  and  starve  to  death  with 
you  alls,  dan  live  in  de  grandest  house  on  de 
Avenue." 

"  Oh,  Hannibal,"  said  Edith,  putting  her  hand 
on  the  old  man's  shoulder,  and  looking  at  him  with 
her  large  eyes  dimmed  with  grateful  tears,  "  you 
don't  know  how  much  good  you  have  done  me.  I 
have  felt  that  there  were  none  to  trust — not  one, 
but  you  are  as  true  as  steel.  Your  heart  isn't 
black,  as  I  told  you  before.  It's  whiter  than  mine. 
Oh,  that  other  men  were  like  you  ! " 

"  Bress  you,  Miss  Edie,  I  isn't  a  man,  I'se  only 
a  nigger." 

"You  are  my  t/ue  and  trusted  friend,'*  saic* 
Edith,  "and  you  shall  be  one  of  the  family  as  long 
as  you  wish  to  stay  with  us-" 

"  Now  bress  you,  Miss  Edie,  you'se  an  angel  for 
sayin*  dat.  Don't  be  afeard,  I'se  good  for  sumpen 
yet,  if  I  be  old.  I  once  work  for  fear  in  de  South  ; 
den  I  work  for  money,  and  now  I'se  gwine  to  work 


BLACK  HANNIBAL'S  WHITE  HEART.       267 

for  lub,  and  it  'pears  I  can  feel  my  ole  jints  limber 
up  at  de  thought.  It  'pears  like  dat  lub  is  de  only 
ting  dat  can  make  one  young  agin.  Neber  you 
fear,  Miss  Edie,  we'll  pull  through,  and  I'se  see  you 
a  grand  lady  yet.  A  true  lady  you'se  allers  be, 
even  if  you  went  out  to  scrub." 

"  Perhaps  I'll  have  to,  Hannibal.  I  know  how 
to  do  that  about  as  well  as  anything  else  that  peo- 
ple are  willing  to  pay  for." 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE  CHANGES  OF  TWO  SHORT  MONTHS, 

A  T  the  dinner  table  it  was  reluctantly  admitted 
to  be  necessary,  that  Edith  should  go  to  th? 
city  in  the  morning  and  dispose  of  some  of  theii 
jewelry.  She  went  by  the  early  train,  and  the 
familiar  aspects  of  Fourth  Avenue  as  she  rode 
down  town,  were  as  painful  as  the  features  of  an 
old  friend  turned  away  from  us  in  estrangement. 
She  kept  her  face  closely  veiled,  hoping  to  meet  no 
acquaintances,  but  some  whom  she  knew,  unwit- 
tingly brushed  against  her.  Her  mother's  last 
words  were, — 

"  Go  to  some  store  where  we  are  not  known,  to 
sell  the  jewelry." 

Edith's  usually  good  judgment  seemed  to  fail 
her  inthis  case  as  it  generally  does  when  we  listen 
to  the  suggestions  of  false  pride.  She  went  to  a 
jeweller  down  town  who  was  an  utter  stranger. 
The  man's  face  to  whom  she  handed  her  valuables 
for  inspection,  did  not  suggest  pure  gold  that  had 
passed  through  the  refiner's  fire,  though  he  profess- 
ed to  deal  in  that  article.  An  unknown  lady, 
closely  veiled,  offering  such  rich  articles  for  sale, 
looked  suspicious,  but  whether  it  was  right  of 
wrong,  there  was  a  chance  for  him  to  make  an  ex- 


THE  CHANGES  OF  TWO  SHORT  MONTHS.    269 

traordinary  profit.  Giving  a  curious  glance  at 
Edith,  who  began  to  have  misgivings  from  the 
manner  and  appearance  of  the  man,  he  swept  the 
little  cases  up  and  took  them  to  the  back  part  of 
the  store,  on  pretence  of  wishing  to  consult  his 
partner.  He  soon  returned  and  said  rather  harsh- 

iy>- 

"  I  don't  quite  understand  this  matter,  and  we 
are  not  in  the  habit  of  doing  this  kind  of  business. 
It  may  be  all  right  that  you  should  offer  this  jew- 
elry, and  it  may  not.  If  we  take  it,  we  must  run 
the  risk.  We  will  give  you" — offering  scarcely 
half  its  value. 

"  I  assure  you  it  is  all  right,"  said  Edith  indig- 
nantly, at  the  same  time  with  a  sickening  sensa- 
tion of  fear,  "  It  all  belongs  to  us,  but  we  are  com- 
pelled to  part  with  it  from  sudden  need." 

"  That  is  about  the  way  they  all  talk,"  said  the 
man  coolly.  "  We  will  give  you  no  more  than  I 
said." 

"Then  give  me  back  my  jewelry,"  said  Edith, 
scarcely  able  to  stand,  through  fear  and  shame. 

"  I  don't  know  about  that.  Perhaps  I  ought  to 
call  in  an  officer  anyway  and  have  the  thing  inves- 
tigated. But  I  give  you  your  choice,  either  to  take 
this  money,  or  go  with  a  policeman  before  a  justice 
and  have  the  thing  explained,"  and  he  laid  the 
money  before  her. 

She  shuddered  at  the  thought.  Edith  Allen 
in  a  police  court,  explaining  why  she  was  selling 
her  jewelry,  the  gifts  of  her  dead  father,  followed 


2/O  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOf 

by  a  rabble  in  the  street,  her  name  in  the  papers, 
and  she  the  town-talk  and  scandal  of  her  old  set 
on  the  Avenue !  How  Gus  Elliot  and  Van  Dam 
would  exult !  All  passed  through  her  mind  in  one 
dreadful  whirl.  She  snatched  up  the  money  and 
rushed  out  with  one  thought  of  escape,  and  for 
some  t'ime  after  had  a  shuddering  apprehension  of 
being  pursued  and  arrested. 

"  Oh,  if  I  had  only  gone  to  Tiffany's,  where  I 
am  known,"  she  groaned.  "  It's  all  mother's  work. 
Her  advice  is  always  fatal,  and  I  will  never  follow 
it  again.  It  seems  as  if  everthing  and  every  body 
were  against  me,''  and  she  plunged  into  the  shelter 
ing  throng  of  Broadway,  glad  to  be  a  mere  unre- 
cognized drop  in  its  mighty  tide. 

But  even  as  Edith  passed  out  of  the  jeweller's 
store,  her  eye  rested  for  a  moment  on  the  face  of  a 
man  that  she  thought  she  had  seen  before,  though 
she  could  not  tell  where,  and  the  face  haunted  her, 
causing  much  uneasiness. 

"  Could  he  have  seen  and  know  me  ?  "  she  que 
ried  most  anxiously. 

He  had  done  both.  He  was  no  other  than  Tom 
Crowl,  a  clerk  in  the  village  at  one  of  the  lesser 
dry  goods  stores,  where  the  Aliens  had  a  small  ac- 
count. He  was  one  of  the  mean  loafers  who  was 
present  at  the  bar-room  scene,  and  had  cheered, 
and  then  kicked  Gus  Elliot,  and  "  laid  for  him ''  in  the 
evening  with  the  "  boys."  He  was  one  of  the  up- 
per graduates  of  Pushton  street  corners,  and  having 
spent  an  idle  vicious  boyhood,  truant  half  the  time 


THE  CHANGES  OF  TWO  SHORT  MONTHS.    2j\ 

from  school,  had  now  arrived  at  the  dignity  of 
derk  in  a  store,  that  thrived  feebly  on  the  scatter- 
ing trade  that  filtered  through  and  past  Mr.  Hard's 
larger  establishment.  He  was  one  of  the  worst 
phases  of  the  male  gossip,  and  had  the  scent  of  a 
buzzard  for  the  carrion  of  scandal.  The  Aliens  were 
now  the  uppermost  theme  of  the  village,  for  there 
seemed  some  mystery  about  them.  Moreover  the 
rural  dabblers  in  vice  had  a  natural  jealousy  of  the 
more  accomplished  rakes  from  the  city,  which  took 
on  some  of  the  air  of  a  virtuous  indignation  against 
them.  Of  course  the  talk  about  Gus  and  Van  Dam 
passed  on  to  the  Aliens,  and  if  poor  Edith  could 
have  heard  the  surmises  about  them  in  the  select 
coterie  of  clerks  that  gathered  around  Crowl  after 
closing  hours,  as  the  central  fountain  of  gossip,  she 
would  have  felt  more  bitterly  than  ever,  that  the 
spirit  of  chivalry  had  utterly  forsaken  mankind. 

When  therefore  young  Crowl  saw  Edith  get  on 
the  same  train  as  himself,  he  determined  to  watch 
her,  and  startle,  if  possible,  his  small  squad  of  ad- 
mirers with  a  new  proof  of  his  right  to  lead  as 
chief  scandal-monger.  The  scene  in  the  jewelry 
store  thus  became  a  brilliant  stroke  of  fortune  to 
him,  though  so  severe  a  blow  to  Edith.  (The  num- 
ber of  people  who  are  like  wolves  that  turn  upon  and 
devour  one  of  their  kind  when  wounded  is  not  small.) 
Crowl  exultingly  saw  himself  doubly  the  hero  of 
the  evening  in  the  little  room  of  the  loft  over  the 
store,  where  poor  Edith  would  be  discussed  that 
evening  over  a  black  bottle  and  sundry  clay 


2/2  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DO? 

All  this  miserable  drivel  would  have  been  of  lit. 
tie  consequence,  as  far  as  the  gossip  itself  was  con« 
cerned,  but  the  consequences  of  such  gossip  threat' 
ened  to  be  most  serious. 

As  Edith  returned  up  town  toward  the  depot, 
the  impulse  to  go  and  see  her  old  home  was  very 
strong.  She  thought  her  veil  sufficient  protection 
to  venture.  Slowly  and  with  heavy  step  she  passed 
up  the  well  known  street  on  the  opposite  side,  and 
then  crossed  and  passed  down  toward  that  door 
from  which  she  had  so  often  tripped  in  light-heart- 
ed gayety,  or  rolled  away  in  a  liveried  carriage,  the 
envied  and  courted  daughter  of  a  millionaire. 
And  to-day  she  was  selling  her  jewelry  for  bread — • 
to-day  she  had  narrowly,  as  she  thought,  escaped 
the  Police  Court — to-day  she  had  no  other  pros- 
pect of  support  save  her  unskilled  hands,  and  little 
more  than  two  short  months  ago,  that  house  was 
ablaze  with  light,  resounding  with  mirth  and  music, 
and  she  and  her  sisters  known  among  the  wealth- 
iest belles  of  the  city.  It  was  like  a  horrid  dream. 
It  seemed  as  if  she  might  see  old  Hannibal  open- 
ing the  door,  and  Zell  come  tripping  out,  or  Laura 
at  the  window  of  her  room  with  a  book,  or  the 
portly  form  of  her  father  returning  from  business, 
indeed  even  herself,  radiant  with  pride  and  pleasure, 
starting  for  an  afternoon  walk  as  of  old.  All 
seemed  to  look  the  same.  Why  was  it  not  ?  Why 
could  she  not  enter  and  be  at  home !  Again  she 
passed.  A  name  on  the  door  caught  her  eye. 
With  a  shudder  of  disgust  and  pain,  she  read, — 


THE  CHANGES  OF  TWO  SHORT  MONTHS. 


273 


«  Uriah  Fox." 

"  So  the  villain  lives  in  the  home  of  which  he 
robbed  us,''  she  said  bitterly.  The  world  seems 
made  for  such.  Old  Hannibal  was  right.  God 
lumps  the  world,  but  the  devil  seems  to  look  after 
his  friends  and  prosper  them." 

She  now  hastened  to  the  depot.  The  city  had 
lost  its  attractions  to  her,  in  view  of  what  she  saw 
and  suffered  that  day,  and  though  inclined  to  feel 
hard  and  resentful  at  her  fate,  she  was  sincerely 
thankful  that  she  had  a  quiet  home  in  the  country 
where  at  least  the  false-hearted  and  cruel  could  be 
kept  away. 

She  saw  during  the  day  several  faces  that  she 
knew,  but  none  recognized  her,  and  she  realized 
how  soon  our  wide  circle  of  friends  forget  us,  and 
how  the  world  goes  on  just  the  same  after  we  have 
vacated  the  large  space  we  suppose  we  occupy. 

She  reached  home  in  the  twilight,  weary  and 
despondent.  Her  mother  asked  eagerly, 

"Did  you  meet  anyone  you  knew?"  as  if  this 
were  the  all  important  question. 

"  Don't  speak  to  me,"  said  Edith  impatiently. 
"  I'm  half  dead  with  fatigue  and  trouble.  Hanni- 
bal, please  give  me  a  cup  of  tea,  and  then  I  will  go 
to  bed." 

"  But  Edith,"  persisted  Mrs.  Allen  querulously, 
"did  you  see  any  of  our  old  set?  I  hope  you 
didn't  take  the  jewelry  where  you  were  known." 

Kdith's  overtaxed  nerves  gave  way,  and  sh# 
•aid  sharply, — 


274  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOt 

"  No,  I  did  not  go  where  I  was  known,  as  I 
ought,  and  therefore  have  been  robbed,  and  might 
have  been  in  jail  myself  to-night.  I  will  never  fol- 
low your  advice  again.  It  has  brought  nothing  but 
trouble  and  disaster.  I  have  had  enough  of  your 
silly  pride  and  its  results.  What  practical  harm 
would  it  have  done  me,  if  I  had  met  all  the  persons 
I  know  in  the  city  ?  By  going  where  I  was  not 
known  I  lost  half  my  jewelry,  and  was  insulted  and 
threatened  with  great  danger  in  the  bargain.  If  I 
had  gone  to  Tiffany's,  or  Ball  and  Black's,  where  I 
am  known,  I  would  have  been  treated  politely  and 
obtained  the  full  value  of  what  I  offered.  I  can't 
even  forgive  myself  for  being  such  a  fool.  But  I 
have  done  with  your  ridiculous  false  pride  forever. 
We've  all  got  to  go  to  work  at  once  like  other  poor 
people,  or  starve,  and  I  intend  to  do  it  openly.  I 
am  sick  of  that  meanest  of  all  lies,  a  shabby  keeping 
up  of  appearances." 

These  were  harsh  words  for  a  daughter  to  speak 
to  her  mother,  under  any  provocation,  and  even 
Zell  said,— 

"  Edith  you  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself  to 
speak  to  mother  so." 

"  I  think  so  too,"  said  Laura,  "  I'm  sure  she 
meant  everything  for  the  best,  and  she  took  the 
course  which  is  taken  by  the  majority  in  like  cir- 
cumstances." 

"  All  the  worse  for  the  majority  then,  if  they 
fare  any  thing  as  we  have  done.  The  division  of 
labor  in  this  family  seems  to  be  that  I  am  to  do 


THE  CHANGES  OF  TWO  SHORT  MONTHS.    375 

all  the  work,  and  bear  the  brunt  of  everything,  and 
the  rest  sit  by  and  criticise,  or  make  more  trouble. 
You  have  all  got  to  do  something  now  or  go  hun- 
giy,"  and  Edith  swallowed  her  tea,  and  went  frown- 
Ingly  away  to  her  room.  She  was  no  saint,  to  be- 
gin with,  and  her  over-taxed  mind  and  body  re- 
venged themselves  in  nervous  irritation.  But  her 
young  and  healthful  nature  soon  found  in  sound 
sleep,  the  needed  restorative. 

Mrs.  Allen  shed  a  few  helpless  tears,  and  Lau- 
ra wearily  watched  the  faint  flicker  on  the  hearth, 
for  the  night  was  chilly.  Zell  went  into  the  din- 
ing-room and  read  for  the  twentieth  time,  a  letter 
received  that  day. 

Unknown  to  Edith,  the  worst  disaster  yet  had 
occurred  in  her  absence.  Zell  went  to  the  village 
for  the  mail.  She  would  not  admit,  even  to  her- 
self, that  she  hoped  for  a  letter  from  one  who  had 
acted  so  poor  a  part  as  her  false  lover,  and  yet,  con- 
trolled so  much  more  by  her  feelings  and  impulses 
than  either  reason  or  principle,  it  was  with  a  thrill 
of  joy  that  she  recognized  the  familiar  handwriting. 
The  next  moment  she  dropped  her  veil  to  conceal 
her  burning  blush  of  shame.  She  hastened  home 
with  a  wild  tumult  at  heart. 

"  I  will  read  it,  and  see  what  he  says  for  him- 
self," she  said,  "  and  then  will  write  a  withering 
answer." 

But  as  Van  Dam's  ardent  words  and  plausible 
excuses  burned  themselves  into  her  memory,  her 
weak  foolish  heart  relented  and  she  half  believed 


2/6  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOt 

he  was  wronged  by  Edith  after  all.  The  withering 
answer  became  a  queer  jumble  of  tender  reproaches 
and  pathetic  appeals,  and  ended  by  saying  that  if 
he  would  marry  her  in  her  own  home  it  all  might 
be  as  secret  as  he  desired,  and  she  would  wait  his 
convenience  for  acknowledgment. 

She  also  did  another  wrong  and  imprudent 
thing;  for  she  told  him  to  direct  his  reply  to 
another  office  about  a  mile  from  Pushton,  for  she 
dreaded  Edith's  anger  should  her  correspondence 
be  discovered. 

The  wily,  unscrupulous  man  gave  one  of  his 
satanic  leers  as  he  read  the  letter. 

"  The  game  will  soon  be  mine,"  he  chuckled, 
and  he  wrote  promptly  in  return. 

"  In  your  request  and  reproaches,  I  see  the  in- 
fluence of  another  mind.  Left  to  yourself  you 
would  not  doubt  me.  And  yet  such  is  my  love  for 
you,  I  would  comply  with  your  request  were  it  not 
for  what  passed  that  fatal  evening.  My  feelings 
and  honor  as  a  man  forbid  my  ever  meeting  your 
sister  again  till  she  has  apologized.  She  never 
liked  me,  and  always  wronged  me  with  doubts. 
Elliot  acted  like  a  fool  and  a  villain,  and  I  have 
nothing  more  to  do  with  him.  But  your  sister,  in 
her  anger  and  excitement,  classed  me  with  him. 
When  you  have  been  my  loved  and  trusted  wife 
for  some  length  of  time,  I  hope  your  family  will  do 
me  justice.  When  you  are  here  with  me  you  will 
soon  see  why  our  marriage  must  be  private  for  the 
present.  You  have  known  me  since  you  were  a 
child.  I  will  be  true  to  my  word  and  will  do 
exactly  as  I  agreed.  I  will  meet  you  any  evening 


THE  CHANGES  OF  TWO  SHORT  MONTHS.    277 

you  wish  on  the  down  boat.  Awaiting  your  reply 
with  an  anxiety  which  only  the  deepest  love  can 
inspire,  I  remain 

Your  slave, 

GUILLIAN  VAN  DAM. 

Such  was  the  false,  but  plausible  missive  that  was 
aimed  as  an  arrow  at  poor  little  Zell.  There  was 
nothing  in  her  training  or  education  and  little  in  her 
character  to  shield  her.  Moreover  the  increasing 
miseries  of  their  situation  were  Van  Dam's  allies. 

Edith  rose  the  next  morning  greatly  refreshed, 
and  her  naturally  courageous  nature  rallied  to  meet 
the  difficulties  of  their  position.  But  in  her 
strength,  as  was  too  often  the  case,  she  made  too 
little  allowance  for  the  weakness  of  the  others. 
She  took  the  reins  in  her  hand  in  a  masterful  and 
not  merciful  way,  and  dictated  to  the  rest  in  a 
manner  that  they  secretly  resented. 

The  store  wagon  was  a  little  earlier  than  usual 
that  morning  and  a  note  from  Mr.  Hard  was 
handed  in  stating  that  he  had  payments  to  make 
that  day  and  would  therefore  request  that  his  little 
account  might  be  met.  Two  or  three  other  par- 
ties brought  up  bills  from  the  village  saying  that 
for  some  reason  or  another  the  money  was  greatly 
needed.  Tom  Growl's  gossip  was  doing  its  legiti- 
mate work. 

In  the  post  office  Edith  found  all  the  other 
accounts  against  the  family  with  requests  for  pay- 
ment, polite  enough  but  pressing. 

She  resolved  to  pay  all  she  could,  and  went  first 


278 


WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DOt 


to  Mr.  Hard's.  That  worthy  citizen's  eyes  grew  less 
stony  as  he  saw  half  the  amount  of  his  bill  on  the 
counter.  The  rumor  of  Edith's  visit  to  the  city 
had  reached  even  him,  and  he  had  his  fears  that  col- 
lecting might  involve  some  unpleasant  business,  but 
however  unpleasant  it  might  be,  Mr.  Hard  always 
collected. 

"  I  hope  our  method  of  dealing  has  satisfied 
you,  Miss  Allen,"  he  ventured  politely. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Edith  dryly,  "  you-  have  been 
very  liberal  and  prompt  with  everything,  especially 
your  bill." 

At  this  Mr.  Hard's  eyes  grew  quite  pebbly, 
and  he  muttered  something  about  its  being  the 
rule  to  settle  monthly. 

"  Oh,  certainly,"  said  Edith,  "  and  like  most 
rules,  no  doubt,  has  many  exceptions.  Good 
morning." 

She  also  paid  something  on  the  other  bills,  and 
found  that  she  had  but  a  few  dollars  left.  Though 
there  was  a  certain  sense  of  relief  in  the  feeling  that 
she  now  owed  much  less,  still  she  looked  with  dis- 
may on  the  small  sum  remaining.  Where  was  more 
to  come  from  ?  She  had  determined  that  she  would 
not  go  to  New  York  again  to  sell  anything  except 
in  the  direst  extremity. 

That  evening  Hannibal  gave  them  a  meagre 
supper,  for  Edith  had  told  him  of  the  absolute 
necessity  of  economy.  There  was  a  little  grum- 
bling over  the  fare.  So  Edith  pushed  her  chaii 
back,  laid  seven  dollars  on  the  table  saying, — 


THE  CHANGES  OF  TWO  SHORT  MONTHS. 


279 


u  That's  all  the  money  I  have  in  the  world. 

Who's  got  any  more  ?  " 

They  raised  ten  dollars  among  them. 

"  Now,'  said  Edith,  "  this  is  all  we  have.  Where 
is  more  coming  from  ?  " 

Helpless  sighs  and  silence  were  her  only  an- 
swers. 

"  There  is  nothing  clearer  in  the  world,"  con- 
tinued Edith,  "  than  that  we  must  earn  money. 
What  can  we  do?  " 

"  I  never  thought  I  should  have  to  work,"  said 
Laura  piteously. 

"  But,  my  dear  sister,"  said  Edith  earnestly, 
"isn't  it  clear  to  you  now  that  you  must?  You 
certainly  don't  expect  me  to  earn  enough  to  sup- 
port you  all.  One  pair  of  hands  can't  do  it,  and 
it  wouldn't  be  fair  in  the  bargain." 

"  Oh  certainly  not,"  said  Laura.  "  I  will  do 
anything  you  say  as  well  as  I  can,  though,  for  the 
life  of  me,  I  don't  see  what  I  can  do." 

"  Nor  I  either,"  said  Zell  passionately.  "  I  don't 
know  how  to  work.  I  never  did  anything  useful 
in  my  life  that  I  know  of.  What  right  have  pa- 
rents to  bring  up  girls  in  this  way,  unless  they 
make  it  a  perfect  certainty  that  they  will  always 
be  rich.  Here  we  are  as  helpless  as  four  children. 
We  have  not  got  enough  to  keep  us  from  starving 
more  than  a  week  at  best.  Just  to  think  of  it! 
Men  are  speculating  and  risking  all  they  have 
every  day.  Ever  since  I  was  a  child  I  have  heard 
about  the  risks  of  business.  I  know  some  people 


280  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DO? 

whose  fathers  failed,  and  they  went  away,  1  don't 
know  where,  to  suffer  as  we  have  perhaps,  and  yet 
girls  are  not  taught  to  do  a  single  thing  by  which 
they  can  earn  a  penny  if  they  need  to.  If  any  body 
will  pay  me  for  jabbering  a  little  bad  French  and 
Italian,  and  strumming  a  few  operatic  airs  on  the 
piano,  I  am  at  their  service.  I  think  I  also  under- 
stand dressing,  flirting,  and  receiving  compliments 
very  well.  I  had  a  taste  for  these  things  and  never 
had  any  special  motive  given  me  for  doing  any- 
thing else.  What  becomes  of  all  the  girls  thus 
taught  to  be  helpless,  and  then  tossed  out  into  the 
world  to  sink  or  swim?" 

"  They   find  some  self-sustaining  work  in  it, 
said  Edith. 

"  Not  all  of  them,  I  guess,"  muttered  Zell  sul- 
lenly. 

"  Then  they  do  worse,  and  had  better  starve," 
said  Edith  sternly. 

"  You  don't  know  anything  about  starving," 
retorted  Zell,  bitterly.  "  I  repeat,  it's  a  burning 
shame  to  bring  girls  up  so  that  they  don't  know 
how  to  do  anything,  if  there's  ever  any  possibility 
that  they  must.  And  it's  a  worse  shame  that  re- 
spect and  encouragement  is  not  given  to  girls  who 
earn  a  living.  Mother  says  that  if  we  become  work- 
ing girls,  not  one  of  our  old  wealthy,  fashionable  set 
will  have  anything  to  do  with  us.  What  makes 
people  act  so  silly  ?  Any  one  of  them  on  the 
Avenue  may  be  where  we  are  in  a  year.  I've  no 
patience  with  the  ways  of  the  world.  People  don't 


THE  CHANGES  OF  '1  WO  SHORT  MONTHS.    28l 

help  each  other  to  be  good,  and  don't  help 
others  up.  Grown  up  folks  act  like  children.  How 
parents  can  look  forward  to  the  barest  chance  of 
their  children  being  poor,  and  bring  them  up  as 
we  were,  I  don't  see.  I'm  no  more  fit  to  be  poor, 
than  to  be  President." 

Zell  never  before  had  said  a  word  that  reflected 
on  her  father,  but  in  the  light  of  events  her  criticism 
seemed  so  just  that  no  one  reproved  her. 

Mrs.  Allen  only  sighed  over  her  part  of  the  im 
plied  blame.  She  had  reached  the  hopeless  stage 
of  one  lost  in  a  foreign  land  where  the  language  is 
unknown  and  every  sight  and  sound  unfamiliar 
and  bewildering.  This  weak  fashionable  woman, 
the  costly  product  of  an  artificial  luxurious  life, 
seemed  capable  of  being  little  better  than  a  mill- 
stone around  the  necks  of  her  children  in  this  hour 
of  their  need.  If  there  had  been  some  innate 
strength  and  nobility  in  Mrs.  Allen's  character,  it 
might  have  developed  now  into  something  worthy 
of  respect  under  this  sharp  attrition  of  trouble, 
however  perverted  before.  But  where  a  precious 
stone  will  take  lustre  a  pumice  stone  will  crumble. 
There  is  a  multitude  of  natures  so  weak  to  begin 
with  that  they  need  tonic  treatment  all  through 
life.  What  must  such  become  under  the  influence 
of  enervating  luxury,  flattery  and  uncurbed  selfish- 
ness from  childhood  ?  Poor,  faded,  sighing,  helpless 
Mrs.  Allen,  shivering  before  the  trouble  she  had 
largely  occasioned,  is  the  answer. 


282  WHAT  CAN  SHE  D01 

Edith  soon  broke  the  forlorn  silence  that  fol- 
lowed Zell's  outburst  by  saying, — 

"All  the  blame  doesn't  rest  on  the  parents.  I 
might  have  improved  my  advantages  far  better.  I 
might  have  so  mastered  the  mere  rudiments  of  an 
English  education  as  to  be  able  to  teach  little  chil- 
dren, but  I  can  scarcely  remember  a  single  thing 
now." 

"  I  can  remember  one  thing,"  interrupted  Zell, 
who  was  fresh  from  her  books,  "  that  there  was 
mighty  little  attention  given  to  the  rudiments  as 
you  call  them,  in  the  fashionable  schools  to  which  I 
went.  To  give  the  outward  airs  and  graces  of  a 
fine  lady  seemed  their  wl  ole  aim.  Accomplish- 
ments, deportment  were  everything.  The  way  I 
was  hustled  over  the  rudiments  almost  takes  away 
my  breath  to  remember,  and  I  have  as  remote  an 
idea  of  vulgar  fractions,  as  of  how  to  do  the  vulgar 
work  before  us.  I  tell  you  the  whole  thing  is  a 
cruel  farce.  If  girls  are  educated  like  butterflies,  it 
ought  to  be  made  certain  that  they  can  live  like 
butterflies." 

"  Well  then,"  continued  Edith.  "  We  ought  to 
have  perfected  ourselves  in  some  accomplishment. 
They  are  always  in  demand.  See  what  some 
French  and  Music  teachers  obtain." 

"Nonsense,"  said  Zell  pettishly,  "you  know 
well  enough  that  by  the  time  we  were  sixteen,  our 
heads  were  so  full  of  beaux,  parties  and  dress,  that 
French  and  music  were  a  bore.  We  went  through 
the  fashionable  mills  like  the  rest,  and  if  father 


THE  CHANGES  OF  TWO  SHORT  MONTHS.    283 

had  continued  worth  a  million  or  so,  no  one  would 
have  found  fault  with  our  education." 

"  We  can't  help  the  past  now,"  said  Edith  after 
a  moment,  "  but  I  am  not  so  old  yet  but  that  I 
can  choose  some  kind  of  work  and  so  thoroughly 
master  it  that  I  can  get  the  highest  price  paid  for 
that  form  of  labor.  I  wish  it  could  be  gardening, 
for  I  have  no  taste  for  the  shut  up  work  of  woman  ; 
sitting  in  a  close  room  all  day  with  a  needle  would 
be  slow  suicide  to  me." 

"  Gardening !  "  said  Zell  contemptuously.  "  You 
couldn't  plough  as  well  as  that  snuffy  old  fellow 
who  scratched  your  garden  about  as  deeply  as  a 
hen  would  have  done  it.  A  woman  can't  dig  and 
hoe  in  the  hot  sun,  that  is,  an  American,  girl  can't, 
and  I  dont  think  they  ought." 

"  Nor  I  either,"  said  Mrs.  Allen,  with  some  re- 
viving vitality.  "  The  very  idea  is  horrid." 

"  But  ploughing,  digging  and  hoeing  isn't  all  of 
gardening,"  said  Edith  with  some  irritation. 

"  I  guess  you  would  make  a  slim  support  by  just 
snipping  around  among  the  rose  bushes,"  retorted 
Zell  provokingly. 

"  That's  always  the  way  with  you,  Zell,"  said 
Edith  sharply,  "from  one  extreme  to  another. 
Well  what  would  you  like  to  do  ?  " 

"  If  I  had  to  work  I  would  like  housekeeping. 
That  admits  of  great  variety  and  activity.  I  wish 
I  could  open  a  summer  boarding-house  up  here. 
Wouldn't  I  make  it  attractive ! " 

**  Such   black  eyes  and   red   cheeks  certainly 


284  WHA  T  CAN  sffE  D0f 

would — to  the  gentlemen,"  answered  Edith  satiri 
cally. 

"  They  would  be  mere  accessories.  I  think  I 
could  give  to  a  boarding-house,  that  place  of  hash 
and  harrowing  discomfort,  a  dainty  homelike  air. 
If  father,  \\  hen  he  risked  a  failure,  had  only  put 
aside  enough  to  set  me  up  in  a  boarding-house,  I 
should  have  been  made." 

"A  boarding-house!  What  horror  next?"  sigh- 
ed Mrs.  Allen. 

"  Don't  be  alarmed,  mother,"  said  Zell  bitterly. 
'•  We  can  scarcely  start  one  of  the  forlornest  hash 
species  on  ten  dollars.  I  admit  I  would  rather 
keep  house  for  a  good  husband,  and  it  seems  to 
me  I  could  soon  learn  to  give  him  the  perfection  of 
a  good  home/'  and  her  eyes  filled  with  wistful 
tears.  Dashing  them  scornfully  away,  she  added 
"  The  idea  of  a  woman  loving  a  man,  and  letting  his 
home  be  dependent  on  the  cruel  mercies  of  foreign 
servants  !  If  it's  a  shame  that  girls  are  not  taught 
to  make  a  living  if  they  need  to,  it's  a  worse  shame 
that  they  are  not  taught  to  keep  house.  Half  the 
brides  I  know  of  ought  to  have  been  arrested  and 
imprisoned  for  obtaining  property  on  false  preten- 
ces. They  had  inveigled  men  into  the  vain  ex- 
pectation that  they  would  make  a  home  for  them, 
when  they  no  more  knew  how  to  make  a  home 
than  a  heaven.  The  best  they  can  do  is  to  go  to 
one  of  those  places  so  satirically  called  an  "  intelli- 
gence office,"  and  import  into  their  elegant  house'i 
a  small  mob  of  quarrelsome,  drunken,  dishonest  for- 


THE  CHANGES  OF  TWO  SHORT  MONTHS.    285 

eigners,  and  then  they  and  their  husbands  live  on 
such  conditions  as  are  permitted.  I  would  be  mis- 
tress of  my  house  just  as  a  man  is  master  of  his 
store  or  office,  and  I  would  know  thoroughly  how 
all  kinds  of  work  was  done,  and  see  that  it  was 
done  thoroughly.  If  they  wouldn't  do  it,  I'd  dis- 
charge them.  I  am  satisfied  that  our  bad  servants 
are  the  result  of  bad  housekeepers  moie  than  any- 
thing else." 

"  Poor  little  Zell,"  said  Edith,  smiling  sadly.  "  I 
hope  you  will  have  a  chance  to  put  your  theories 
into  most  happy  and  successful  practice." 

"  Little  chance  of  it  here  in  '  Bushtown'  as  Han- 
nibal calls  it,"  said  Zell  sullenly. 

"  Well,"  said  Edith,  in  a  kind  of  desperate  tone, 
"  we've  got  to  decide  on  something  at  once.  I 
will  suggest  this.  Laura  must  take  care  of  mother, 
and  teach  a  few  little  children  if  she  can  get  them. 
We  will  give  up  the  parlor  to  her  certain  hours.  I 
will  put  up  a  notice  in  the  post  office  asking  for 
such  patronage,  and  perhaps  we  can  put  an  adver- 
tisement in  the  Pushton  Recorder,  if  it  don't  cost 
too  much.  Zell,  you  must  take  the  housekeeping 
mainly,  for  which  you  have  a  taste,  and  help  me 
with  any  sewing  that  I  can  get.  Hannibal  will  go 
into  the  garden  and  I  will  help  him  there  all  I  can. 
I  shall  go  to  the  village  to-morrow  and  see  if  I  can 
find  anything  to  do  that  will  bring  in  money." 

There  was  a  silent  acquiescence  in  Edith's  plan, 
foi  no  one  had  anything  else  to  offer. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

IGNORANCE.     LOOKING  FOR  WORK. 

*"PHE  next  day  Edith  went  to  the  village,  and 
frankly  told  Mr.  Hard  how  they  were  situated, 
mentioning  that  the  failure  of  their  lawyer  to  sell 
the  stock  had  suddenly  placed  them  in  this  crip- 
pled condition. 

Mr.  Hard's  eyes  grew  more  pebbly  as  he  lis- 
tened. He  ventured  in  a  constrained  voice  as 
consolation, — 

"  That  he  never  had  much  faith  in  stocks — No, 
he  had  no  employment  for  ladies  in  connection  with 
his  store.  He  simply  bought  and  sold  at  a  small 
advance.  Miss  Klip,  the  dressmaker,  might  have 
something." 

To  Miss  Klip  Edith  went.  Miss  Klip,  although 
an  unprotected  female,  appeared  to  be  a  maiden 
that  could  take  care  of  herself.  One  would  scarce- 
ly venture  to  hinder  her.  Her  cutting  scissors 
seemed  instinct  with  life,  and  one  would  get  out  of 
their  way  as  instinctively  as  from  a  railroad  train -i 
She  gave  Edith  a  sharp  look  through  her  spectacles 
and  said  abruptly  in  answer  to  her  application, — 

"  I  thought  you  was  rich." 

"  We  were,"  said  Edith  sadly,  "  but  we  must 
work  now  and  are  willing  to." 


IGNORANCE.— LOOKING  FOR  WORK.          287 

"  What  do  you  know  about  dressmaking  and 
sewing?" 

"  Well,  not  a  great  deal,  but  I  think  you  would 
find  us  very  ready  to  learn." 

"  Oh,  bless  you,  I  can  get  all  my  work  done  by 
thorough  hands,  and  at  my  own  prices,  too.  Good 
morning." 

"  But  can  you  not  tell  me  of  some  one  who 
would  be  apt  to  have  work  ?  " 

"  There's  Mrs.  Glibe  across  the  street.  She 
has  work  sometimes.  Most  of  the  dressmakers 
around  here  are  well  trained,  have  machines,  and 
go  out  by  the  day." 

Edith's  heart  sank.  What  chance  was  there 
for  her  untaught  hands  among  all  these  "  trained 
workers." 

She  soon  found  that  Mrs.  Glibe  was  more  in- 
clined to  talk,  (being  as  garrulous  as  Miss  Klip  was 
laconic,)  and  to  find  out  all  about  them,  than  to 
help  her  to  work.  Making  but  little  headway  in 
Edith's  confidence  she  at  last  said,  "  I  give  Rose 
Lacey  all  the  work  I  have  to  spare  and  it  isn't  very 
much.  The  business  is  so  cut  up  that  none  of  us 
have  much  more  than  we  can  do  except  a  short 
time  in  the  busy  season.  Still,  those  of  us  who  can 
give  a  nice  fit  and  cut  to  advantage  can  make  a 
good  living  after  getting  known.  It  takes  time  and 
training  you  know  of  course." 

"  But  isn't  there  work  of  any  kind  that  we  can 
get  in  this  place  ?  "  said  Edith  impatiently. 

"  Well,  not  that  you'd  be  willing  to  do.     Of 


288  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DO  I 

course  there's  housecleaningand  washing  and  some 
plain  sewing,  though  that  is  mostly  done  on  a  ma- 
chine. A  good  strong  woman  can  always  get  day's 
work,  except  in  winter,  but  you  aint  one  of  that 
sort,"  she  added,  looking  at  Edith's  delicate  pink 
and  white  complexion  and  little  white  hands  in 
which  a  scrubbing  brush  would  look  incongruous. 

"  Isn't  there  any  demand  for  fancy  work?"  ask- 
ed Edith. 

"  Mighty  little.  People  buy  such  things  in  the 
city.  Money  aint  so  plenty  in  the  country  that 
people  will  spend  much  on  that  kind  of  thing. 
The  ladies  themselves  make  it  at  home  and  when 
they  go  out  to  tea." 

"  Oh  dear,''  sighed  Edith,  as  she  plodded  wea- 
rily homeward,  "  what  can  we  do  ?  Ignorance  is  as 
bad  as  crime." 

Her  main  hope  now  for  immediate  necessities 
was  that  they  might  get  some  scholars.  She  had 
put  up  a  notice  in  the  post  office  and  an  adver- 
tisement in  the  paper.  She  had  also  purchased 
some  rudimentary  school  books,  and  the  poor  child, 
on  her  return  home,  soon  distracted  herself  by  a 
sudden  plunge  into  vulgar  fractions.  She  found 
herself  so  sadly  rusty  that  she  would  have  to  study 
almost  as  hard  as  any  of  her  pupils,  were  they  ob- 
tained. Laura's  bookish  turn  and  better  mem- 
ory had  kept  her  better  informed.  Edith  soon 
threw  aside  grammars  and  arithmetics,  saying  to 
Laura, — 

"  You  must  take  care  of  the  school,  if  we  get 


IGNORANCE.— LOOKING  FOR  WORK.         289 

one.     It  would   take  me  too  long  to  prepare  on 
these  things  in  our  emergency." 

Almost  desperate  from  the  feeling  that  there 
was  nothing  she  could  do,  she  took  a  hoe  that  was 
by  no  means  light,  and  loosened  the  ground  and 
cut  off  all  the  sprouting  weeds  around  her  straw- 
berry vines.  The  day  was  rather  cool  and  cloudy, 
and  she  was  surprised  at  the  space  she  went  over. 
She  wore  her  broad-rimmed  straw-hat  tied  down 
over  her  face,  and  determined  she  would  not  look 
at  the  road,  and  act  as  if  it  were  not  there,  letting 
people  think  what  they  pleased.  But  a  familiar 
rumble  and  rattle  caused  her  to  look  shyly  up  after 
the  wagon  had  passed,  and  she  saw  Arden  Lacey 
gazing  wonderingly  back  at  her.  She  dropped  her 
eyes  instantly  as  if  she  had  not  seen  him,  and  went 
on  with  her  work.  At  last,  thoroughly  wearied, 
she  went  in  and  said  half  triumphantly,  half  de- 
fiantly,— 

"  A  woman  can  hoe.     I've  done  it  myself." 
"  A  woman  can  ride  a  horse  like  a  man,"  said 
Mrs.  Allen,  and  this  was  all  the  home  encourage- 
ment poor  Edith  received. 

They  had  had  but  a  light  lunch  at  one  o'clock, 
meaning  to  have  a  more  substantial  dinner  at  six. 
Hannibal  was  showing  Zell  and  getting  her  started 
in  her  department.     It  was  but  a  poor  little  dinner 
they  had,  and  Zell  said  in  place  of  dessert, — 
"  Edith,  we  are  most  out  of  everything." 
""And    I  can't  get  any  work,"  said    Edith   dc- 
•pondingly.     "  People  have  got  to  know  how  to  do 


290  WHAT  CAN  SHE  D01 

things  t-efore  anybody  wants  them,  and  we  haven't 
time  to  learn." 

"  Ten  dollars  won't  last  long,"  said  Zell  reck- 
lessly. 

'*  I  will  go  down  to  the  village  and  make  furthef 
inquiries  to-morrow,"  Edith  continued  in  a  weary 
tone.  "  It  seems  strange  how  people  stand  aloof 
from  us.  No  one  calls  and  every  body  wants  what 
we  owe  them  right  away.  Are  there  not  any  good 
kind  people  in  Pushton  ?  I  wish  we  had  not 
offended  the  Laceys.  They  might  have  advised 
and  helped  us,  but  nothing  would  tempt  me  to  go 
to  them  after  treating  them  as  we  did." 

There  were  plenty  of  good  kind  people  in  Push- 
ton,  but  Mrs.  Allen's  "policy"  had  driven  them 
away  as  far  as  possible.  By  their  course  the  Al- 
iens had  placed  themselves,  in  relation  to  all  classes, 
in  the  most  unapproachable  position,  and  theii 
"  friends"  from  the  city  and  Tom  Growl's  gossip 
made  matters  far  worse.  Poor  Edith  thought 
they  were  utterly  ignored.  She  would  have  felt 
worse  if  she  had  known  that  every  one  was  talk- 
ing about  them. 

The  next  day  Edith  started  on  another  unsuc- 
cessful expedition  to  the  village,  and  while  she  was 
gone,  Zell  went  to  the  post-office  to  which  she  had 
told  Van  Dam  to  direct  his  reply.  She  found  the 
plausible  lie  we  have  already  placed  before  the 
reader. 

At  first  she  experienced  a  sensation  of  angel 
that  he  had  not  complied  with  her  wish.  It  was 


IGNORANCE.— LOOKING  FOR  WORK.         29! 

a  new  experience  to  have  gentlemen,  especially 
Van  Dam,  so  long  her  obsequious  slave,  think  of 
anything  contrary  to  her  wishes.  She  also  feared 
that  Edith  might  be  right,  and  that  Van  Dam 
designed  evil  against  her.  She  would  not  openly 
admit,  even  to  herself,  that  this  was  his  purpose, 
and  yet  Edith's  words  had  been  so  clear  and 
strong,  and  Van  Dam's  conditions  placed  her  so 
entirely  at  his  mercy,  that  she  shrank  from  him 
and  was  fascinated  at  the  same  time. 

But  instead  of  indignantly  casting  the  letter 
from  her,  she  read  it  again  and  again.  Her  foolish 
heart  pleaded  for  him. 

"  He  couldn't  be  so  false  to  me,  so  false  to  his 
written  word,"  she  said,  and  the  letter  was  hidden 
away,  and  she  passed  into  the  dangerous  stage  of 
irresolution,  where  temptation  is  secretly  dwelt 
upon.  She  hesitated,  and  according  to  the  pro- 
verb, the  woman  who  does  this  is  lost.  Instead 
of  indignantly  casting  temptation  from  her,  she 
left  her  course  open,  to  be  decided  somewhat 
by  circumstances.  She  wilfully  shut  her  eyes  to 
the  danger,  and  tried  to  believe,  and  did  almost 
believe  that.her  lover  meant  honestly  by  her. 

And  so  the  days  passed,  Edith  vainly  trying  to 
find  something  to  do,  and  working  hard  in  her 
garden,  which  as  yet  brought  no  return.  She  was 
often  very  sad  and  despondent  and  again  very 
irritable.  Laura's  apathy  only  deepened,  and  she 
seemed  like  one  not  yet  awakened  from  a  dream 
of  the  past.  Zell  made  some  show  of  work,  but 


2g2  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DOT 

after  all  left  most  everything  for  Hannibal  as  before, 
and  when  Edith  sharply  chided  her,  she  laughed 
recklessly  and  said, — 

"What's  the  use?  If  we  are  going  to  starve 
we  might  as  well  do  so  at  once  and  it's  over  with." 

"  I  won't  starve,"  said  Edith,  almost  fiercely. 
"  There  must  be  honest  work  somewhere  in  the 
world  for  one  willing  to  do  it,  and  I'm  going  to 
find  it.  At  any  rate,  I  can  raise  food  in  my  garden 
before  long." 

"  I'm  afraid  we'll  starve  before  your  cabbages 
and  carrots  come  to  maturity,  and  we  might  as 
well  as  to  try  to  live  on  such  garbage.  Supplies 
are  running  low,  and  as  you  say,  the  money  is 
nearly  gone." 

"  Yes,  and  people  won't  trust  us  any  more. 
Two  or  three  declined  to  in  the  village  to-day,  and 
I  felt  too  discouraged  and  ashamed  to  ask  any 
further.  For  some  reason  people  seem  afraid  of 
us.  I  see  persons  turn  and  look  after  me,  and  yet 
they  avoid  me.  Two  or  three  impudent  clerks 
tried  to  make  my  acquaintance,  but  I  snubbed 
them  in  such  a  way  that  they  will  let  me  alone 
hereafter.  I  wonder  if  any  stories  could  have  got 
around  about  us?  Country  towns  are  such  places 
for  gossip." 

"  Have  you  heard  of  any  scholars  ?"  said  Laura 
languidly. 

"  No,  not  one,"  was  Edith's  despondent  answer. 
*  If  nothing  turns  up  before,  I'll  go  to  New  York 


IGNORANCE.— LOOKING  FOR  WORK. 


293 


next  Monday  and  sell  some  more  things,  and  I'll 
go  where  I'm  known  this  time." 

Nothing  turned  up,  and  by  Sunday  they  had 
nothing  in  the  house  save  a  little  dry  bread,  which 
they  ate  moistened  with  wine  and  water.  Mrs 
Allen  sighed  and  cried  all  day.  Laura  had  the 
strange  manner  of  one  awaking  up  to  something 
unrealized  before.  Restlessness  began  to  take  the 
place  of  apathy,  and  her  eyes  often  sought  the  face 
of  Edith  in  a  questioning  manner.  Finding  her 
alone  in  the  garden,  she  said, — 

"  Why  Edith,  I'm  hungry.  I  never  remember 
being  hungry  before.  Is  it  possible  we  have  come 
to  this  ?  " 

Edith  burst  into  tears,  and  said  brokenly, — 

"  Come  with  me  to  the  arbor." 

"  I'm  sure  I'm  willing  to  do  anything,"  said 
Laura  piteously,  "  but  I  never  realized  we  would 
come  to  this." 

41  Oh,  how  can  the  birds  sing  ? ''  said  Edith  bit- 
terly. "  This  beautiful  spring  weather,  with  its 
promise  and  hopefulness,  seems  a  mockery..  The 
sun  is  shining  brightly,  flowers  are  budding  and 
blooming,  and  all  the  world  seems  so  happy,  but 
my  heart  aches  as  if  it  would  burst.  I'm  hungry, 
too,  and  I  know  poor  old  Hannibal  is  faint,  though 
he  tries  to  keep  up  whenever  I  am  around." 

"  But  Edith  if  people  knew  how  we  are  situated 
they  would  not  let  us  want.  Our  old  acquaintances 
in  New  York,  or  our  relations  even,  though  not 
Very  friendly,  would  surely  keep  us." 


294  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOt 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  suppose  so  for  a  little  while,  but  I 
can't  bring  myself  to  ask  for  charity,  and  no  one 
would  undertake  to  support  us.  What  discourages 
me  most  is  that  I  can't  get  work  that  will  bring  in 
money.  Between  people  wishing  to  have  nothing 
to  do  with  us,  on  one  hand,  and  my  ignorance  on 
the  other,  there  seems  no  resource.  Some  of  those 
whom  we  owe  seem  inclined  to  press  us.  I'm  so 
afraid  of  losing  this  place  and  being  out  on  the 
street.  If  I  could  only  get  a  chance  somewhere, 
or  get  time  to  learn  to  do  something  well !  " 

Then  after  a  moment  she  asked  suddenly, 
«  Where's  Zell?" 

"  In  her  room,  I  think." 

"  I  don't  like  Zell's  manner,"  said  Edith,  after 
a  brief  painful  reverie.  "  It's  so  hard  and  reckless. 
Something  seems  on  her  mind.  She  has  long  fits 
of  abstraction  as  if  she  were  thinking  of  something, 
or  weighing  some  plan.  Could  she  have  had  any 
communication  with  that  villain  Van  Dam  ?  Oh, 
that  would  be  the  bitterest  drop  of  all  in  our  cup 
of  sorrow.  I  would  rather  see  her  dead  than  that. 

"  Oh  dear,"  said  Laura,  "  it  seems  as  if  I  had 
been  in  a  trance  and  had  just  awakened.  Why 
Edith,  I  must  do  something.  It  is  not  iight  to  let 
you  bear  all  these  things  alone.  But  d<y.  t  trouble 
about  Zell,  not  one  of  George  Allen's  daughters 
will  sink  to  that." 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

A  FALLING  STAR. 

P7ELL  slept  most  of  the  day.  She  had  reached 
*-^  that  point  where  she  did  not  want  to  think. 
On  hearing  Edith  say  that  she  would  go  to  New 
York  on  Monday,  a  sudden  and  strong  temptation  as- 
sailed her.  Impulsive,  but  not  courageous,  abound- 
ing in  energy,  but  having  little  fortitude,  she  found 
the  conditions  of  her  country  life  growing  unendur- 
able. Var  Dam  seemed  her  only  refuge,  her  only 
means  of  escape.  She  soon  lost  all  hope  of  their 
sustaining  themselves  by  work  in  Pushton.  Her 
uncurbed  nature  could  wait  patiently  for  nothing, 
and  as  the  long,  idle  days  passed,  she  doubted,  and 
then  despaired,  of  any  success  from  Edith's  plans. 
She  harbored  Van  Dam's  temptation,  and  the  con- 
sciousness of  doing  this  hurt  her  womanly  nature, 
and  her  hard,  reckless  tone  and  manner  was  the 
natural  consequence.  Though  she  said  to  herself, 
and  tried  to  believe, 

"  He  will  marry  me — he  has  promised  again  and 
again." 

Still,  there  was  the  uneasy  knowledge  that  she 
was  placing  herself  and  reputation  entirely  at  his 
mercy,  and  she  long  had  known  that  Van  Dam  was 
no  saint.  It  was  this  lurking  knowledge,  shut  her 


296  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DO? 

eyes  to  it  as  she  might,  that  acted  on  her  nature  like 
that  petrifying  influence  existing  in  some  places, 
which  tends  to  turn  all  to  stone. 

And  yet,  Van  Dam's  temptation  had  more  to 
contend  with  in  her  pride  than  her  moral  nature. 
Everything  in  her  education  had  tended  to  increase 
the  former,  and  dwarf  the  latter.  Her  parents  had 
taken  her  to  the  theatre  far  oftener  than  even  to  the 
fashionable  church  on  the  avenue.  From  the  latter 
she  carried  away  more  ideas  about  dress  than  any- 
thing else.  From  a  child  she  had  been  familiar 
with  the  French  school  of  morals,  as  taught  by  the 
sensational  drama  in  New  York.  Society,  that  will 
turn  a  poor  girl  out  of  doors  the  moment  she  sins, 
will  take  her  at  the  most  critical  age  of  her  unformed 
character,  night  after  night,  to  witness  plays  in  which 
the  husband  is  made  ridiculous,  but  the  man  who 
destroys  purity  and  home-happiness,  is  as  splendid 
a  villain  as  Milton's  Satan.  Mr.  Allen  himself  had 
familiarized  Zell's  mind  with  just  what  she  was 
tempted  to  do,  by  taking  her  to  plays  as  poisonous 
to  the  soul  as  the  malaria  of  the  Campagna  at  Rome 
to  the  body.  He,  though  dead,  had  a  part  in  the 
present  temptation  of  his  child,  and  we  unhesita- 
tingly charge  many  parents  with  the  absolute  ruin 
of  their  children,  by  exposing  them,  and  permitting 
them  to  be  exposed,  to  influences  that  they  know 
must  be  fatal.  No  guardian  of  a  child  can  plead 
the  densest  stupidity  for  not  knowing  that  Fiench 
novels  and  plays  are  as  demoralizing  as  the  devil 
could  wish  them  to  be;  and  constantly  to  place  young 


A  FALLING  STAR.  2$? 

passionate  natures,  just  awakening  in  their  uncurbed 
strength,  under  such  influences,  and  expect  them  to 
remain  as  spotless  as  snow,  is  the  most  wretched  ab- 
surdity of  our  day.  Society  brings  fire  to  the  tow, 
the  brand  to  the  powder,  and  then  lifts  its  hand  to 
hurl  its  anathema  in  case  they  ignite. 

But  Mr.  Allen  sinned  even  more  grievously  in 
permitting  a  man  like  Van  Dam  to  haunt  his  home. 
If  now  one  of  the  lambs  of  his  flock  suffered  irretriev- 
ably, he  would  be  as  much  to  blame  as  a  shepherd 
who  daily  saw  the  wolf  within  his  fold.  Mr.  Allen  was 
familiar  with  the  stories  about  Van  Dam,  as  mul- 
titudes of  wealthy  men  are  to-day  with  the  charac- 
ter of  well-dressed  scoundrels  that  visit  their 
daughters.  Some  of  the  worst  villains  in  existence 
have  the  entree  into  the  "  best  society."  It  is  pretty 
well  known  among  men  what  they  are,  and  fashion- 
able mammas  are  not  wholly  in  the  dark.  There- 
fore, every  day,  "  Angels  that  kept  not  their  first 
estate  "  are  falling  from  heaven.  It  may  not  be  the 
open,  disgraceful  ruin  that  threatened  poor  Zell,  but 
ruin  nevertheless. 

After  all,  it  was  the  undermining,  unhallowed 
influence  of  long  association  with  Van  Dam  that  now 
made  Zell  so  weak  in  her  first  sharp  stress  of  temp- 
tation. Crime  was  not  awful  and  repulsive  to  her. 
There  was  little  in  her  cunningly-perverted  nature 
that  revolted  at  it.  She  hesitated  mainly  on  the 
ground  of  her  pride,  and  in  view  of  the  consequen- 
ces. And  even  these  latter  she  in  no  sense  realized, 
for  the  school  in  which  she  had  been  taught  showed 


29g  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOt 

only  the  flowery  opening  of  the  path  into  sin,  while 
its  terrible  retributions  were  kept  hidden. 

Therefore,  as  the  miseries  of  her  condition  in  the 
country  increased,  Zell's  pride  failed  her,  and  she 
began  to  be  willing  to  risk  all  to  get  away,  and  when 
she  felt  the  pinch  of  hunger  she  became  almost  des- 
perate. As  we  have  said,  on  Edith's  naming  a  day 
on  which  she  would  be  absent  on  the  forlorn  mission 
that  would  only  put  off  the  day  of  utter  want  a  little 
longer,  the  temptation  took  definite  shape  in  Zell's 
mind  to  write  at  once  to  Van  Dam,  acceding  to  his 
shameful  conditions. 

But,  to  satisfy  her  conscience,  which  she  could 
not  stifle,  and  to  provide  some  excuse  for  her  action, 
and  still  more,  to  brace  the  hope  she  tried  to  cherish 
that  he  really  meant  truly  by  her,  she  wrote, 

"  If  I  will  meet  you  at  the  boat  Monday  evening, 
will  you  surely  marry  me?  Promise  me  on  your 
sacred  honor." 

Van  Dam  muttered,  with  alow  laugh,  as  he  read 
the  note, 

"  That's  a  rich  joke,  for  her  to  accept  such  a  prop- 
osition as  mine,  especially  after  all  that  has  hap- 
pened, and  still  prate  of '  sacred  honor.'  " 

But  he  unhesitatingly,  promptly,  and  with 
many  protestations  assured  her  that  he  would,  and 
at  once  prepared  to  carry  out  his  part  of  the  pro- 
gramme. 

"  What's  the  use  oi  half-way  lies?  "  he  said,  care- 
lessly. 

On  Monday  Edith   again  took  the  early  train 


A  FALLING  STAR.  299 

with  the  valuables  she  designed  disposing  of.  Zell 
had  said  indifferently, 

"  You  may  take  anything  I  have  left  except  my 
watch  and  chain." 

But  Laura  had  insisted  on  sending  her  watch, 
saying,  "  I  really  wish  to  do  something,  Edith.  I've 
left  all  the  burden  on  you  too  long." 

Mrs.  Allen  sighed,  and  said,  "Take  anything 
you  please." 

So  Edith  carried  away  with  her  the  means  of 
fighting  the  wolf,  hunger,  from  their  doors  a  little 
longer.  But  if  she  had  known  that  a  more  cruel 
enemy  would  despoil  her  home  in  her  absence,  she 
would  have  rather  starved  than  gone. 

Laura  was  reading  to  her  mother  when  Zell  put 
her  head  in  at  the  door,  saying, 

"  I  am  going  for  a  short  walk,  and  will  be  back 
soon." 

She  hastened  to  the  office  at  which  she  told  Van 
Dam  to  address  her,  and  found  his  reply.  With 
feverish  cheeks,  and  eyes  in  which  glowed  excite- 
ment rather  than  happiness,  she  read  it  as  soon  as 
alone  on  the  road,  and  returned  as  quickly  as  pos- 
sible. Her  mind  was  in  a  wild  tumult,  but  she 
would  not  allow  herself  one  connected  thought.  She 
spent  most  of  the  day  in  her  room  preparing  for  her 
flight.  But  when  she  came  down  to  see  Hannibal 
about  their  rreagre  lunch,  he  said  in  some  surprise 
and  alarm, 

"  Oh,  Miss  Zell,  how  burnin  red  your  cheeks  be ! 
You'se  got  a  ragin  feber,  sure  'nuff.  Go  and  lie 


300  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOt 

right  straight  down,  and  I'se  see  to  ebery  ting.  I'se 
been  to  de  willage  and  got  some  tea.  A  man  guve 
it  to  me  as  a  sample,  and  I  telled  him  we'se  like  our 
tea  mighty  strong,  so  you'se  all  hab  a  cup  of  tea 
to-day,  and  to-night  Miss  Edie  '11  come  back  with 
a  heap  of  money." 

"  Poor  old  Hannibal,"  said  Zell,  with  a  sudden 
rush  of  tenderness.  "  I  wish  I  were  as  good  as  ycu 
are." 

"  Lor  bress  you,  Miss  Zell,  I  isn't  good.  I'se 
kind  of  a  heathen.  But  somehow  I  feels  dat  de 
Lord  will  bress  me  when  I  steals  for  you  alls." 

"  Oh,  Hannibal,  I  wish  I  was  dead  and  out  of 
the  way !  Then  there  would  be  one  less  to  provide 
for." 

"  Dead  and  out  of  de  way ! "  said  Hannibal, 
half  indignantly ;  "  dat's  jest  how  to  get  into  de 
way.  I'd  be  afeard  of  seein  your  spook  whenever  I 
was  alone.  I  had  no  comfort  in  New  York  arter 
Massa  Allen  died,  and  was  mighty  glad  to  get 
away  even  to  Bushtown.  And  den  Miss  Edie  and 
all  would  cry  dar  eyes  out,  and  couldn't  do  nothin. 
Folks  is  often  more  in  de  way  arter  dey's  dead  and 
gone  dan  when  livin.  Seein  your  sweet  face  around 
ebery  day,  honey,  is  a  great  help  to  ole  Hannibal. 
It  seems  only  yesterday  it  was  a  little  baby  face, 
and  we  was  all  pretty  nigh  crazy  over  you." 

"  I  wish  I  had  died  then !  "  said  Zell,  passionately 
and  hurrying  away. 

"  Poor  chile,  poor  chile !  she  takes  it  mighty 
hard,"  said  innocent  Hannibal. 


A  FALLING  STAR.  30! 

She  kept  her  room  during  the  afternoon,  plead- 
ing that  she  did  not  feel  well.  It  gave  her  pain  to 
be  with  her  mother  and  Laura,  now  that  she  pur- 
posed to  leave  them  so  abruptly,  and  she  wished 
to  see  nothing  that  would  shake  her  resolution  to 
go  as  she  had  arranged.  She  wrote  to  Edith  as 
follows : 

"  I  am  going,  Edith,  to  meet  Mr.  Van  Dam,  as  he 
told  me.  I  cannot — I  will  not  believe  that  he  will 
prove  false  to  me.  I  leave  his  letter,  which  I  re- 
ceived to-day.  Perhaps  you  never  will  forgive  me 
at  home  ;  but  whatever  becomes  of  poor  little  Zell, 
she  will  not  cease  to  love  you  all.  I  would  only  be 
a  burden  if  I  stayed.  There  will  be  one  less  to 
provide  for,  and  I  may  be  able  to  help  you  far  more 
by  going  than  staying.  Don't  follow  me.  I've 
made  my  venture,  and  chosen  my  lot. 

"  ZELL." 

As  the  long  twilight  was  deepening,  Hannibal, 
returning  from  the  well  with  a  pail  of  water,  heard 
the  gate-latch  click,  and  looking  up,  saw  Zell  hur- 
rying out  with  hat  and  shawl  on,  and  having  the 
appearance  of  carrying  something  under  her  shawl. 
He  felt  a  little  surprise  at  first,  but  then  Zell  was 
BO  full  of  impulse,  that  he  concluded, 

"  She's  gwine  to  meet  Miss  Edie.  We'se 
all  a«lookin  and  leanin  on  Miss  Edie,  Lor  bresa 
her," 

But  Zell  was  going  to  perdition. 

Little  later  the  stage  brought  tired  Edith  home. 


302  WHAT  CA A   SHE  DO.* 

but  in  better  spirits  than  before,  as  she  had  realized 
a  somewhat  fair  sum  for  what  she  had  sold,  and 
had  been  treated  politely. 

After  taking  off  her  things,  she  asked,  "  Where's 
Zell?" 

"  Lying  down,  I  think,"  said  Laura.  "  She 
complained  of  not  feeling  well  this  afternoon." 

But  Hannibal's  anxious  face  in  the  door  now 
caught  her  attention,  and  she  joined  him  at 
once. 

"Didn't  you  meet  Miss  Zell?"  he  asked  in  a 
whisper. 

"Meet  her?  no,"  answered  Edith,  excitedly. 

"  Dat's  quare.  She  went  out  with  hat  and 
shawl  on  a  little  while  ago.  P'raps  she's  come 
back,  and  gone  up  stairs  again." 

Trembling  so  she  could  hardly  walk  steadily, 
Edith  hurried  to  her  room,  and  there  saw  Zell's 
note.  Tearing  it  open,  she  only  read  the  first  line, 
and  then  rushed  down  to  her  mother  and  Laura, 
sobbing, 

"  Zell's  gone." 

"  Gone  !  Where  ?  "  they  said,  with  dismayed 
faces. 

Edith's  only  reply  was  to  suddenly  look  at  her 
watch,  put  on  her  hat,  and  dart  out  of  the  door.  She 
saw  that  there  was  still  ten  minutes  before  the  even- 
ing boat  passed  the  Pushton  landing,  and  remem- 
bered that  it  was  sometimes  delayed.  There  was 
a  shorter  road  to  the  dock  than  the  one  through 
the  village,  and  this  she  took,  with  flying  feet,  and 


A  FALLING  STAR.  303 

a  white  but  determined  face.  It  would  have  been 
a  terrible  thing  for  Van  Dam  to  have  met  her  then. 
She  seemed  sustained  by  supernatural  strength, 
and,  walking  and  running  by  turns,  made  the  mile 
and  a  half  in  an  incredibly  short  space  of  time. 
As  she  reached  the  top  of  the  hill  above  the 
landing,  she  saw  the  boat  coming  in  to  the 
dock.  Though  panting  and  almost  spent,  again 
she  ran  at  the  top  of  her  speed.  Half-way  down 
she  heard  the  plank  ring  out  upon  the  wharf. 

"Stop!"  she  called.  But  her  parched  lips  ut- 
tered only  a  faint  sound,  like  the  cry  of  one  in  a 
dream. . 

A  moment  later,  as  she  struggled  desperately 
forward,  there  came,  like  the  knell  of  hope,  the 
command, 

"  All  aboard  !  " 

"  Oh,  wait,  wait ! "  she  again  tried  to  call,  but  her 
tongue  seemed  paralyzed. 

As  she  reached  the  commencement  of  the  long 
dock,  she  saw  the  lines  cast  off.  The  great  wheels 
gave  a  vigorous  revolution,  and  the  boat  swept 
away. 

She  was  too  late.  She  staggered  forward  a  few 
steps  more,  and  then  all  her  remaining  strength 
went  into  one  agonized  cry, 

"  Zell !  " 

And  she  fell  fainting  on  the  dock. 

Zell  heard  that  cry,  and  recognized  the  voice. 
Taking  her  hand  from  Mr.  Van  Dam's  arm.  she 
covered  her  face  in  sudden  remorseful  weeping. 


304  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DOt 

But  It  \vas  too  late. 

She  nad  left  the  shelter  of  home,  and  ventured 
out  into  the  great  pitiless  world  on  nothing  better 
than  Van  Dam's  word.  It  was  like  walking  a  rotten 
plank  out  into  the  sea. 

Zcll  was  lost  I 


CHAPTER   XX. 

DESOLATION 

NOT  only  did  Edith's  bitter  cry  startle  poor 
Zcll,  coming  to  her  ear  as  a  despairing  recall 
from  the  battlements  of  heaven  might  have  sounded 
to  a  falling  angel,  but  Arden  Lacey  was  as 
thoroughly  aroused  from  his  painful  reverie  as  if 
shaken  by  a  giant  hand.  He  had  been  down  to 
meet  the  boat,  with  many  others,  and  was  sending 
off  some  little  produce  from  their  place.  He  had 
not  noticed  in  the  dusk  the  closely-vailed  lady ; 
indeed,  he  rarely  noticed  any  one  unless  they  spoke  to 
him,  and  then  gave  but  brief,  surly  attention.  Only 
one  had  scanned  Zell  curiously,  and  that  was  Tom 
Crowl.  With  his  quick  eye  for  something  wrong  in 
human  action,  he  was  attracted  by  Zell's  manner. 
He  could  not  make  out  through  her  thick  vail  who 
she  was,  in  the  increasing  darkness,  but  he  saw  that 
she  was  agitated,  and  that  she  looked  eagerly  for 
the  coming  of  the  boat,  also  landward,  where  the 
road  came  out  on  the  dock,  as  if  fearing  or  expect- 
ing something  from  that  quarter.  But  when  he  saw 
her  join  Van  Dam,  he  recognized  his  old  bar-room 
acquaintance,  and  surmised  that  the  lady  was  one 
of  the  Allen  family.  Possessing  these  links  in  the 
chain,  he  was  ready  for  the  next.  Edith's  presence 
and  cry  supplied  this,  and  he  chuckled  exultantly, 


306  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DO? 

"  All  elopement !  "  and  ran  in  the  direction  of  the 
sound. 

But  Arden  was  already  at  Edith's  side,  having 
reached  her  almost  at  a  bound,  and  was  gently  lift- 
ing the  unconscious  girl,  and  regarding  her  with  a 
tenderness  only  equaled  by  his  helplessness  and 
perplexity  in  knowing  what  to  do  with  her. 

The  first  impulse  of  his  great  strength  was  to 
carry  her  directly  to  her  home.  But  Edith  was 
anything  but  ethereal,  and  long  before  he  could 
have  passed  the  mile  and  a  half,  he  would  have 
fainted  under  the  burden,  even  though  love  nerved 
his  arms.  But  while  he  stood  in  piteous  irresolu- 
tion, there  came  out  from  the  crowd  that  had 
gathered  round,  a  stout,  middle-aged  worran,  who 
said,  in  a  voice  that  not  only  betokened  the  utmost 
confidence  in  herself,  but  also  the  assurance  that  all 
the  world  had  confidence  in  her: 

"  Here,  give  me  the  girl.  What  do  you  men-folks 
know  about  women  ?  " 

"  I  declare  it's  Miss  Groody  from  the  hotel,"  ejacu- 
lated Tom  Crowl,  as  this  delightful  drama  (to  him) 
went  on  from  act  to  act. 

"  Standin'  there  and  holdin'  of  her,"  continued 
Mrs.  Groody,  who  was  sometimes  a  little  severe  on 
both  sexes,  "  won't  bring  her  to,  unless  she  fainted 
'cause  she  wanted  some  one  to  hold  her." 

A  general  laugh  greeted  this  implied  satire,  but 
Arden,  between  anger  and  desire  to  do  something, 
was  almost  beside  himself.  He  had  the  presence  of 
mind  to  rush  to  the  boat-house  for  a  bucket  of  water, 


DESOLA  T10N.  307 

and  when  he  arrived  with  it  a  man  had  also  pro- 
cured a  lantern,  which  revealed  to  the  curious 
onlookers  that  gathered  round  with  craning  necks, 
the  pale  features  of  Edith  Allen. 

'•  By  golly,  but  it's  one  of  them  Allen  girls,"  said 
Tom  Crowl,  eagerly.  "  I  see  it  all  now.  She's 
down  to  stop  her  sister,  who's  just  run  away  with 
one  of  those  city  scamps,  that  was  up  here  awhile 
ago.  I  saw  her  join  him  and  take  his  arm  on  the 
boat,  but  wasn't  sure  who  she  was  then." 

"  Might  know  you  was  around,  Tom  Crowl,"  said 
Mrs.  Groody.  "  There's  never  nothing  wrong  going 
on  but  you  will  see  it.  You  are  worse  than  any  old 
woman  for  gossip.  Why  don't  you  put  on  petti- 
coats and  go  out  to  tea  for  a  livin*  ?  " 

When  the  laugh  ceased  at  Growl's  expense,  he 
said  : 

"  Don't  you  put  on  airs,  Mrs.  Groody  ;  you  are  as 
glad  to  hear  the  news  as  any  one.  It's  a  pity  you 
turned  up  and  spoiled  Mr.  Lacey's  part  of  the  play, 
for,  if  this  one  is  anything  like  her  sister,  she,  per- 
haps, wanted  to  be  held  as  you  — " 

Tom's  further  utterance  was  effectually  stopped 
by  such  a  blow  across  his  mouth,  from  Lacey's  hand, 
as  brought  the  blood  profusely  on  the  spot,  and 
caused  such  disfigurement,  for  days  after,  that  appro- 
priate justice  seemed  visited  on  the  offending  region, 

"Leave  this  dock,"  said  Arden,  sternly;  "and  if 
I  trace  any  slander  to  you  concerning  this  lady  or 
myself,  I  will  break  every  bone  in  your  miserable 
body." 


308  WI1A  T  CAN  SUE  DO? 

Crowl  shrank  off  amid  the  jeers  of  the  crowd,  but 
when  reaching  a  safe  distance,  said,  "  You  will  be 
sorry  for  this." 

Arden  paid  no  heed  to  him,  for  Edith,  under  Mrs. 
Groody's  treatment,  gave  signs  of  returning  con- 
sciousness. She  slowly  opened  her  eyes,  and  turned 
them  wonderingly  around  ;  then  came  a  look  of  wild 
alarm,  as  she  saw  herself  surrounded  by  strange 
bearded  faces,  that  appeared  both  savage  and  gro- 
tesque in  the  flickering  light  of  the  lantern. 

"  Oh,  Heaven,  have  mercy,"  she  cried,  faintly. 
"Where  am  I?" 

"  Among  friends,  I  assure  you,  Miss  Allen,"  said 
Arden,  kneeling  at  her  side. 

"Mr.  Lacey !  and  are  you  here?"  said  Edith, 
trying  to  rise.  "  You  surely  will  protect  me." 

"  Do  not  be  afraid,  Miss  Allen.  No  one  would 
harm  you  for  the  world  ;  and  Mrs.  Groody  is  a  good 
kind  lady,  and  will  see  you  safely  home,  I  am  sure." 

Edith  now  became  conscious  that  it 'was  Mrs. 
Groody  who  was  supporting  her,  and  regained  confi- 
dence, as  she  recognized  the  presence  of  a  woman. 

"  Law  bless  you,  child,  you  needn't  be  scared. 
You  have  only  had  a  faint.  I'll  take  care  of  you,  as 
young  Lacey  says.  Seems  to  me  he's  got  wonder- 
fully polite  since  last  summer,"  she  muttered  to  her- 
self. 

"  But  where  am  I  ?  "  asked  Edith,  with  a  bewil- 
dered air ;  "  what  has  happened  ?  " 

"  Oh,  don't  worry  yourself;  you'll  soon  be  home 
and  safe." 


DESOLA  TION.  309 

But  the  memory  of  it  all  suddenly  came  to  Edith, 
and  even  by  the  lantern's  light,  Arden  saw  the  sud- 
den crimson  pour  into  her  face  and  neck.  She  gave 
one  wild,  deprecating  look  around,  and  then  buried 
her  face  in  her  hands  as  if  to  hide  the  look  of  scorn 
she  expected  to  see  on  every  face. 

The  first  arrow  aimed  by  Zell's  great  wrong  al- 
ready quivered  in  her  heart. 

"  Don't  you  think  you  could  walk  a  little  now, 
just  enough  to  get  into  the  hack  with  me  and  go 
home  ?  "  asked  the  kind  woman,  in  a  soothing  voice. 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Edith,  eagerly ;  "let  us  getaway 
at  once."  And  with  Mrs.  Groody's  and  Arden's  as- 
sistance, she  was  soon  seated  in  the  hack,  and  was 
glad  to  note  that  there  was  no  other  passenger.  The 
ride  was  a  comparatively  silent  one.  Edith  was  too 
exhausted  from  her  desperate  struggle  to  reach  the 
boat,  and  her  heart  was  too  bruised  and  sore,  to 
permit  on  her  part  much  more  than  monosyllables,  in 
answer  to  Mrs.  Groody's  efforts  at  conversation.  But 
as  they  stopped  at  the  cottage,  her  new  friend 
said,  cheerily, 

"  Don't  take  it  so  hard,  my  child ;  you  ain't  to 
blame.  I'll  stand  by  you  if  no  one  else  will.  It 
don't  take  me  long  to  know  a  good  honest  girl  when 
I  see  one,  and  I  know  you  mean  well.  What's 
more,  I've  took  a  liking  to  you,  and  I  can  be  a  pret- 
ty fair  sort  of  friend  if  I  do  work  for  a  livin'." 

Mrs.  Groody  was  good  if  not  grammatical.  She 
had  broad  shoulders,  that  had  borne  in  their  day 
many  burdens ;  her  own  and  others.  She  had  a 


3 1 0  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DO  t 

strong,  stout  frame,  in  which  thumped  a  large,  kind- 
ly heart.  She  had  long  earned  her  bread  by  call- 
ings that  brought  her  in  contact  with  all  cUsses,  and 
learned  to  know  the  world  very  thoroughly  without 
becoming  worldly  or  hardened.  But  she  had  a 
quick,  sharp  tongue,  and  could  pay  anybody  off  in 
their  own  coin  with  interest.  Everybody  soon 
found  it  to  their  advantage  to  keep  on  the  right  side 
of  Mrs.  Groody,  and  the  old  habitues  of  the  hotel 
were  as  polite  and  deferential  to  her  as  if  she  were  a 
duchess.  She  was  one  of  those  shrewd,  strong, 
cheery  people,  who  would  make  themselves  snug, 
useful,  and  influential  in  a  very  short  time,  if  set 
down  anywhere  on  the  face  of  the  earth. 

Such  a  woman  readily  surmised  the  nature  of 
Edith's  trouble,  and  knew  well  how  deeply  the 
shadow  of  Zell's  disgrace  would  fall  on  the  family. 
Edith's  desperate  effort  to  save  her  sister,  her  bitter 
humiliation  and  shrinking  shame  in  view  of  the 
flight,  all  proved  her  to  be  worthy  of  respect  and 
confidence  herself.  When  Mrs.  Groody  saw  that 
Edith  lived  in  a  little  house,  and  was  probably  not 
in  so  high  a  social  position  as  to  resent  her  patron- 
age, her  big  heart  yearned  in  double  sympathy  over 
the  poor  girl,  and  she  determined  to  help  her  in  the 
struggle  she  knew  to  be  before  her ;  so  she  said, 
kindly, 

"  If  you'll  wait  till  an  old  clumsy  body  like  me 
can  get  out,  I'll  see  you  safe  into  your  home." 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Edith,  eagerly,  following  the 
strong  instinct  to  keep  a  stranger  from  seeing  her 


DESOLATION.  311 

self,  mother,  Laura,  in  the  first  hour  of  their  shame. 
"  You  have  been  very  kind,  and  I  feel  that  I  can 
never  repay  you." 

"  Bless  you,  child,  I  don't  expect  greenbacks  for 
all  I  do  I  want  a  little  of  the  Lord's  work  to  come 
to  me,  though  I'm  afraid  I  fell  from  grace  long  ago. 
But  a  body  can't  be  pious  in  a  hotel.  There's  so 
many  aggravatin*  people  and  things  that  you  think 
swearing,  if  you  darsn't  say  it  out.  But  I'm  a  hu- 
man sort  of  a  heathen,  after  all,  and  I  feel  sorry  for 
you.  Now  ain't  there  somethin'  I  can  do  for  you  ?  " 

The  driver  stood  with  his  lantern  near  the  door, 
and  its  rays  fell  on  Edith's  pale  face  and  large,  tear* 
ful  eyes,  and  she  turned,  and  for  the  first  time  tried 
to  see  who  this  kind  woman  was,  that  seemed  to 
feel  for  her.  Taking  Mrs.  Groody's  hands,  she  said, 
in  a  voice  of  tremulous  pathos, 

"  God  bless  you  for  speaking  to  me  at  all.  I 
didn't  think  any  one  would  again,  who  knew.  You 
ask  if  you  can  do  anything  for  me.  If  you'll  only 
get  me  work,  I'll  bless  you  every  day  of  my  life. 
No  one  on  earth  or  in  heaven  can  help  me,  unless  I 
get  work.  I'm  almost  desperate  for  it,  and  I  can't 
seem  to  find  any  that  will  bring  us  bread,  but  I'll  do 
any  honest  work,  no  matter  what,  and  I'll  take 
whatever  people  are  willing  to  give  for  it,  till  I  can 
do  better."  Edith  spoke  in  a  rapid  manner,  but  in 
a  tone  that  went  straight  to  the  heart. 

"  _Why,  my  poor  child,"  said  Mrs.  Groody,  wiping 
her  eyes,  "  You  can't  do  work.  You  are  pale  as  a 
ghost,  and  you  look  like  a  delicate  lady." 


3 1 2  WIIA  T  CAN  SHE  DO? 

"  What'  is  there  in  this  world  for  a  delicate  lady 
who  has  no  money,  but  honest  work?  "  asked  Edith, 
in  a  tone  that  was  almost  stern. 

"  I  see  that  you  are  such  a  lady,  and  it  seems  that 
you  ought  to  find  some  lady-like  work,  if  you  must 
do  it,"  said  Mrs.  Groody,  musingly. 

"  We  have  tried  to  get  employment — almost  any 
kind.  I  can't  think  my  sister  would  have  taken  her 
desperate  course  if  we  could  have  obtained  some- 
thing to  do.  I  know  she  ought  to  have  starved  first. 
But  we  were  not  brought  up  to  work,  and  we  can't 
do  anything  well  enough  to  satisfy  people,  and  we 
haven't  time,  to  learn.  Besides,  before  this  hap- 
pened, for  some  reason  people  stood  aloof  from  us, 
and  now  it  will  be  far  worse.  Oh,  what  shall  we 
do  ?  What  shall  we  do  ?  "  cried  Edith,  despairingly  ; 
and  in  her  trouble  she  seemed  to  turn  her  eyes  away 
from  Mrs.  Groody,  with  wild  questioning  of  the  future. 

Her  new  acquaintance  was  sniffling  and  blowing 
her  nose  in  a  manner  that  betokened  serious  inter- 
nal commotion.  The  driver,  who  would  have 
hustled  any  ordinary  passenger  out  quickly  enough, 
waited  Mrs.  Groody's  leisure  at  a  respectful  dis- 
tance. He  knew  her  potential  influence  at  the 
hotel.  At  last  the  good  woman  found  her  voice, 
though  it  seemed  a  little  husky : 

"  Lor'  bless  you,  child,  I  ain't  got  a  millstun  for  a 
heart,  and  if  I  had,  you'd  turn  it  into  wax.  If 
work's  all  you  want,  you  shall  have  it.  I'm  house- 
keeper at  the  hotel.  You  come  to  me  as  soon  aa 
you  are  able,  and  we'll  find  something.' 


DESOLATION.  313 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  thank  you  !  "  said  Edith,  fer- 
vidly. , 

"Is  dat  you,  Miss  Edie?"  called  Hannibal's 
anxious  voice. 

"  Good  night,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Groody,  has- 
tily "  Don't  lose  courage.  I  ain't  on  as  good 
terms  with  the  Lord  as  I  ought  to  be.  I  seem  too 
worried  and  busy  to  'tend  to  religion ;  but  I  know 
enough  about  Him  to  be  sure  that  He  will  take 
care  of  a  poor  child  that  wants  to  do  right." 

"  I  don't  understand  how  God  lets  happen  all 
that's  happened  to-day.  The  best  I  can  believe  is, 
that  we  are  dealt  with  in  a  mass,  and  the  poor 
human  atoms  are  lost  sight  of.  But  I  am  indeed 
grateful  for  your  kindness,  and  will  come  to-morrow 
and  do  anything  I  can.  Good-bye." 

And  the  hack  rumbled  away,  leaving  her  in  the 
darkness,  with  Hannibal  at  the  gate. 

"  Oh,  Hannibal,  Hannibal,"  was  all  that  Edith 
could  say. 

"  Is  she  done  gone  clean  away  ?  "  asked  Hannibal, 
in  an  awed  whisper. 

"  Would  to  heaven  she  had  never  been  born," 
said  Edith,  bitterly.  "  Help  me  into  the  house,  for 
I  feel  as  if  I  would  die." 

Hannibal,  trembling  with  fear  himself,  supported 
poor,  exhausted  Edith  to  a  sofa,  and  then  disap- 
peared in  the  kitchen. 

Mrs.  Allen  and  Laura  came  and  stood  with  white 
faces  by  Edith's  languid,  unnerved  form. 

There  was  no  need  of  asking  questions.     She  had 


3 14  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DOt 

returned  alone,  with  her  fresh  young  face  looking 
old  and  drawn  in  its  grief. 

At  last  Mrs.  Allen  said,  with  bitter  emphasis  : 

"  She  is  no  child  of  mine,  from  this  day  forth." 

Then  followed  such  a  dreary  silence,  that  it  might 
seem  that  Zell  had  died  and  was  no  more. 

At  last  Hannibal  bustled  in,  making  a  most 
desperate  effort  to  keep  up  a  poor  show  of  courage 
and  hope.  He  placed  on  a  little  table  before  Edith 
a  steaming  hot  cup  of  tea,  some  toast,  and  wine, 
but  the  food  was  motioned  away. 

"  It  would  choke  me,"  said  Edith. 

Hannibal  stood  before  her  a  moment,  his  quaint 
old.  visage  working  under  the  influence  of  emotion, 
almost  beyond  control.  At  last  he  managed  to 
say: 

"  Miss  Edie,  we'se  all  a-leanin  on  you.  We'se 
nothin  but  vines  a-climbin  up  de  orange  bush.  If 
you  goes  down,  we  all  does.  And  now,  Miss  Edie, 
I'd  swallow  pison  for  you.  Won't  you  take  a  cup  o* 
tea  for  de  sake  of  ole  Hannibal?  'Cause  your  sweet 
face  looks  so  pinched,  honey,  dat  I  feels  dat  my  ole 
black  heart's  ready  to  bust ;  "  and  Hannibal,  feel- 
ing that  the  limit  of  his  restraint  was  reached, 
retreated  precipitately  to  the  kitchen. 

The  appeal,  with  its  element  of  deep  affection, 
was  more  needed  by  Edith  in  her  half  paralyzed 
state  than  even  the  material  refreshment.  She  sat 
up  instantly,  and  drank  the  tea  and  wine,  and  ate  a 
little  of  the  toast.  Then  taking  the  cup  and  glass 
into  the  kitchen, 


DESOLA  TION.  3 1 5 

"  There,'  she  said,  "  see,  I've  drunk  every  drop. 
So  don't  worry  about  me  any  more,  my  poor  old 
Hannibal,  but  go  to  bed,  after  your  hard  day's 
work." 

But  Hannibal  would  not  venture  out,  of  his  dark 
corner,  but  muttered,  brokenly, 

"  Lor — bress — you — Miss  Edie — you'se  an  angel 
— Ise  be  better  soon — Ise  got — de  hicups." 

Edith  thought  it  kindness  to  leave  the  old  man 
to  recover  his  self-control  in  his  own  time  and  way, 
so  she  said, 

"  Good-night,  my  faithful  old  friend.  You're 
worth  your  weight  in  gold." 

Meantime,  Laura  had  helped  Mrs.  Allen  to  her 
room,  but  now  she  came  running  down  to  Edith, 
with  new  trouble  in  her  face,  saying  : 

"  Mother's  crying  so,  I  can't  do  anything  with 
her." 

At  first  Mrs.  Allen's  heart  seemed  hardened 
against  her  erring  child,  but  on  reaching  her  room 
she  stood  a  few  moments  irresolutely,  then  went 
to  a  drawer,  and  took  an  old  faded  picture-case  and 
opened  it,  to  where  Zell  smiled  out  upon  her,  a 
little,  dimpled  baby.  Then,  as  if  by  a  sudden  im- 
pulse, rare  to  her,  she  pressed  her  lips  against 
the  unconscious  face,  and  threw  herself  into  her  low 
chair,  sobbing  so  violently  that  Laura  became 
alarmed. 

Even  in  that  arid  place  Mrs.  Allen's  heart,  there 
appeared  a  little  oasis  of  mother  love,  as  this  last 
and  bitterest  sorrow  pierced  its  lovrest  depths.  She 


3 1 6  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DO  f 

might  cast  out  from  her  affection  the  gtovvn,  sinning 
daughter,  but  not  the  baby  that  once  slept  upon 
her  breast. 

As  Edith  came  and  took  her  hand  she  said, 
brokenly : 

"  It  seems — but  yesterday — that  she  was — a  wee 
black-eyed — little  thing — in  my  arms — and  your 
father — came — and  looked  at  her — so  proudly — 
tenderly — " 

"  Would  to  heaven  she  had  died  then,"  said 
Edith,  sternly. 

"  It  would  have  been  better  if  we  had  all  died 
then,"  said  Mrs.  Allen  drearily,  and  becoming  quiet. 

Edith's  words  fell  like  a  chill  upon  her  unwonted- 
ly  stirred  heart,  and  old  habits  of  feeling  and  action 
resumed  sway. 

With  Mrs.  Allen's  words  ended  the  miserable  day 
of  Zell's  flight.  Hannibal's  words  were  true.  Zell, 
in  her  unnatural  absence,  would  be  more  in  the  way 
— a  heavier  burden,  than  if  she  had  become  a  help- 
less invalid  upon  their  hands. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

EDITH'S  TRUE  KNIGHT. 

THE  next  morning  Edith  was  too  ill  to  rise. 
She  had  become  chilled  after  her  extraor- 
dinary exertion  of  the  previous  evening,  and  a  se- 
vere cold  was  the  consequence ;  and  this,  with  the 
nervous  prostration  of  an  overtaxed  system,  made 
her  appear  more  seriously  indisposed  than  she  real- 
ly was.  For  the  sake  of  her  mother  and  Laura,  she 
wished  to  be  present  at  the  meagre  little  breakfast 
which  her  economy  now  permitted,  but  found  it 
impossible ;  and  later  in  the  day,  her  mind  seemed 
disposed  to  wander. 

Mrs.  Allen  and  Laura  were  terror-stickeli  at  this 
new  trouble.  As  Hannibal  said,  they  were  all  lean- 
ing on  Edith.  They  had  lost  confidence  in  them- 
selves, and  hope  now  from  the  outside  world.  They 
had  scarcely  the  shadow  of  an  expectation  that  Van 
Dam  would  marry  Zell,  and  therefore  knew  that 
worse  than  work  would  separate  them  from  all  old 
connections,  and  they  had  learned  to  hope  nothing 
from  the  people  of  Pushton.  Poor,  feverish,  wan- 
dering Edith  seemed  the  only  one  who  could  keep 
them  from  falling  into  the  abyss  of  utter  want.  They 
instinctively  felt  that  total  wreck  was  impossible  as 
long  as  she  kept  her  hand  upon  the  helm  ;  but  now 


3 1 8  WIIA  T  CAN  SHE  DO  t 

they  had  all  the  wild  alarm  of  those  who  are  drill- 
ing  helplessly  on  a  reef,  with  a  deep  and  stormy  sea 
on  either  side  of  it.  Thus,  to  the  natural  anxiety  of 
affection  was  added  sickening  fear. 

Poor  old  Hannibal  had  no  fear  for  himself.  His 
devotion  to  Edith  reminded  one  of  a  faithful  dog; 
it  was  so  strong,  instinctive,  unreasoning.  He  real- 
ized vaguely  that  his  whole  existence  depended  on 
Edith's  getting  well,  and  yet  we  doubt  whether  he 
thought  of  himself  any  more  than  the  Newfound- 
land, who  watches  beside  the  bed,  and  then  beside 
the  grave  of  a  loved  master,  till  famine,  that  form 
of  pain  which  humanity  cannot  endure,  robs  him  of 
life. 

"  We  must  have  a  physician  immediately,"  said 
Laura,  with  white  lips. 

"  Oh,  no,"  murmured  Edith  ;  "  we  can't  afford 
it." 

"  We  must,"  said  Laura,  with  a  sudden  rush  of 
tears.  "  Everything  depends  on  you." 

Hannibal,  who  heard  this  brief  dialogue,  went 
silently  down  stairs,  and  at  once  started  in  quest  of 
Arden  Lacey. 

"  If  he  is  quar,  he  seemed  kind  o'  human ;  and 
J'se  believe  he'll  help  us  now." 

Arden  was  on  the  way  to  the  barn,  having  just 
»inished  a  farmer's  twelve  o'clock  dinner,  when  Han- 
nibal  entered  the  yard.  An  angel  of  light  could 
**ot  have  been  more  welcome  than  this  dusky  mes- 
senger, for  he  came  from  the  centre  of  all  light  and 
hope  now  to  poor  Arden.  Then  a  feeling  of  alarm 


EDITH'S  TRUE  KNIGHT.  319 

took  possession  of  him.  Had  anything  happened 
to  Edith?  He  had  seen  her  shrinking  shame.  Had 
it  led  her  to — and  he  shuddered  at  the  thought  his 
wild  imagination  suggested.  It  was  almost  a  relief 
when  Hannibal  said, 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Lacey,  I'se  sure  fromde  way  you  acted 
when  we  fust  come,  dat  you  can  feel  for  people  in 
trouble.  Miss  Edie's  berry  sick,  and  I  don't  know 
whar  to  go  for  a  doctor,  and  she  won't  have  any  ; 
but  she  mus,  and  right  away.  Den  again,  I  oughter 
not  leave,  for  dey's  all  nearly  dead  wid  trouble  and 
cryin'." 

"  You  are  a  good,  faithful  fellow,"  said  Arden, 
heartily ;  "  go  back  and  do  all  you  can  for  Miss 
Edith,  and  I'll  bring  a  doctor  myself,  and  much 
quicker  too  than  you  could." 

Before  Hannibal  reached  home,  Arden  galloped 
past  him,  and  the  old  man  chuckled, 

"De  drunken  Laceys'  mighty  good  neighbors 
when  dey's  sober." 

As  well  may  be  imagined,  recent  events,  as  far  as 
he  understood  them,  had  stirred  Arden's  sensitive 
nature  to  the  very  depths.  Hiding  his  feelings 
from  all  save  his  mother,  and  often  from  her ;  ap- 
pearing to  his  neighbors  stolid  and  sullen  in  the 
extreme,  he  was,  in  fact,  in  his  whole  being,  like 
a  morbidly-excited  nerve.  He  did  not  shrink  from 
the  world  because  indifferent  to  it,  but  because  it 
wounded  him  when  coming  in  contact  with  it.  He 
seemed  so  out  of  tune  with  society,  that  it  pro- 
duced only  jarring  disjord.  His  father's  course 


J2O  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DO f 

brought  him  many  real  slights,  Mid  these  lift 
resented  as  we  have  seen,  and  he  resented  fancied 
slights  quite  as  often,  and  thus  he  had  cut  himself 
off  from  the  sympathies,  and  even  the  recognition, 
of  nearly  all.  | 

But  what  human  soul  can  dwell  alone  ?  The 
true  hermit  finds  in  communion  with  the  Divine 
mind  the  perfection  of  companionship.  But  Ar- 
den  knew  not  God.  He  had  heard  of  Him  all  his 
life  ;  but  Jove  and  Thor  were  images  more  familiar 
to  his  mind  than  that  of  his  Creator.  He  loved 
his  mother  and  sister,  but  their  life  seemed  a  poor, 
shaded,  little  nook,  where  they  toiled  and  moped. 
And  so,  to  satisfy  the  cravings  of  his  lonely  heart, 
he  had  created  and  peopled  an  unreal  world  of  his 
own,  in  which  he  dwelt  most  of  the  time.  As  his 
interest  in  the  real  world  ceased,  his  imagination 
more  vividly  portrayed  the  shadowy  one,  till  at  last, 
in  the  scenes  of  poetry  and  fiction,  and  the  splen- 
did panorama  of  history,  he  thought  he  might  rest 
satisfied,  and  find  all  the  society  he  needed  in  con- 
verse with  those,  whom,  by  a  refinement  of  spirit- 
ualism, he  could  summon  to  his  side  from  any  age 
or  land.  He  secretly  exulted  in  the  still  greater 
magic  by  which  the  unreal  creatures  of  poetic 
thought  would  come  at  his  volition,  and  he  often 
smiled  to  think  how  royally  attended  was  "old; 
drunken  Lacey's  "  son,  whom  many  of  the  neighbors 
thought  scarcely  better  than  the  horses  he  drove. 

Thus  he  lived  under  a  spell  of  the  past,  in  a 
worJd  moon -lighted  bv  sentiment  and  fancy,  sur- 


EDITirS  TRUE  KNIGHT.  321 

rounded  by  his  ideal  of  those  whom  he  read,  and 
Shakespeare's  vivid,  life-like  women  were  better 
known  to  him  than  any  of  the  ladies  of  Pushton. 
But  dreams  cannot  last  in  our  material  world,  and 
ghosts  vanish  in  the  sunlight  of  fact.  Woman's 
nature  is  as  beautiful  and  fascinating  now  as  when 
the  master-hand  of  the  world's  greatest  poet  delin- 
eated it,  and  when  living,  breathing  Edith  Allen 
stepped  suddenly  among  his  shadows,  seemingly  so 
luminous,  they  vanished  before  her,  as  the  stars 
pale  into  nothingness,  when  the  eastern  sky  is 
aglow  with  morning.  Now,  in  all  his  horizon,  she 
only  shone,  but  the  past  seemed  like  night,  and  the 
present,  day. 

The  circumstances  under  which  he  had  met 
Edith,  had,  in  brief  time,  done  more  to  acquaint 
him  with  her  than  years  might  have  accomplished, 
and  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  saw  a  superior 
girl  with  the  distorting  medium  of  his  prejudice 
pushed  aside.  Therefore  she  was  a  sudden  beauti- 
ful revelation  to  him,  as  vivid  as  unexpected.  lie 
did  not  believe  any  such  being  existed,  and  indeed 
there  did  not,  if  we  consider  what  he  came  to  ideal- 
ize Edith  into.  But  a  better  Edith  really  lived  than 
the  unnatural  paragon  that  he  pictured  to  himself, 
and  the  reality  was  capable  of  a  vast  improvement, 
though  not  in  the  direction  that  his  morbid  mind 
would  have  indicated. 

The  treatment  of  his  sister,  the  sudden  ceasing 
of  Sll  intercourse,  and  the  appearance  of  Gus 
Elliott  upon  the  scene,  had  cruelly  wounded  his  fair 


322  Wf/A  T  CAN  SHE  DOt 

ideal,  but  with  a  lover's  /aith  and  poet's  fancy  he 
soon  repaired  the  ravages  of  facts.  He  assured  him- 
self that  Edith  did  not  know  the  character  of  the 
men  who  visited  her  house. 

Then  came  Growl's  gossip,  the  knowledge  of  her 
poverty,  and  her  wretched  errands  to  New  York  to 
dispose  of  the  relics  of  the  happy  past.  He  gath- 
ered from  such  observation  as  he  could  maintain 
without  being  suspected,  by  every  crumb  of  gossip 
that  he  could  pick  up  (for  once  he  listened  to  gos- 
sip as  if  it  were  gospel),  that  they  were  in  trouble, 
that  Edith  was  looking  for  work,  and  that  she  was 
so  superior  to  the  rest  of  the  family,  that  they  now 
all  deferred  to  her  and  leaned  upon  her.  Then,  to 
his  deep  satisfaction  he  had  seen  Elliott,  the  morn- 
ing after  his  scathing  repulse,  going  to  the  train, 
and  looking  forlorn  and  sadly  out  of  humor,  and  he 
was  quite  sure  he  had  not  been  near  the  little  cot- 
tage since.  Arden  needed  but  little  fact  on  which 
to  rear  a  wondrous  superstructure,  and  here  seemed 
much,  and  all  in  Edith's  favor,  and  he  longed  with 
an  intensity  beyond  language  to  do  something  to 
help  her. 

Then  came  the  tragedy  of  Zell's  flight,  Edith's 
heroic  and  almost  superhuman  effort  to  save  her, 
now  followed  by  her  pathetic  weakness  and  suffer- 
ing, and  no  knight  in  the  romantic  age  of  chivalry 
ever  more  wholly  and  loyally  devoted  himself  to 
the  high-born  lady  of  his  choice,  than  did  Ardcn 
to  the  poor  sick  girl  at  whom  the  finger  of  srorn 
would  now  be  generally  pointed  in  Pushton. 


EDITH'S   TRUE  KNIGHT.  323 

To  come  back  to  our  hero,  galloping  away  on  his 
old  farm  horse  to  find  a  country  doctor,  may  seem 
a  short  step  down  from  the  sublime.  And  so,  per- 
haps, it  may  be  to  those  whose  ideal  of  the  sublime 
Is  only  in  outward  and  material  things.  But  to 
those  who  look  past  these  things  to  the  passionate 
human  heart,  the  same  in  every  age,  Arden  was  ani- 
mated by  the  same  spirit  with  which  he  would  have 
sought  and  fought  the  traditional  dragon. 

Dr.  Neak,  a  new-comer  who  was  gaining  some 
little  name  for  skill  and  success,  and  was  making 
the  most  of  it,  was  at  home  ;  but  on  Arden's  hur- 
ried application,  ahemmed,  hesitated,  colored  a 
little,  and  at  last  said  : 

"  Look  here,  Mr. (I  beg  your  pardon,  I've 

not  the  pleasure  of  knowing  your  name),  I'm  a  com- 
parative stranger  in  Pushton,  and  am  just  gaining 
some  little  reputation  among  the  better  classes.  I 
would  rather  not  compromise  myself  by  attendance 
upon  that  family.  If  you  can't  get  any  one  else,  and 
the  girl  is  suffering,  of  course  I'll  try  and  go,  but — " 

"  Enough,"  interrupted  Arden,  starting  up  blaz- 
ing with  wrath.  "  You  should  spell  your  name 
with  an  S.  I  want  a  man  as  well  as  a  physician," 
and,  with  a  look  of  utter  contempt,  he  hastened 
away,  leaving  the  medical  man  somewhat  anxious, 
not  about  Edith,  but  whether  he  had  taken  the  best 
course  in  view  of  his  growing  reputation. 

Arden  next  traced  out  Dr.  Blunt,  who  readily 
promised  to  come.  He  attended  all  alike,  and 
charged  roundly  also. 


324  Wf/A  T  CAN  SHE  DO  I 

"  Business  is  business,"  was  his  motto.  "  People 
who  employ  me  must  expect  to  pay.  After  all,  I'm 
the  cheapest  man  in  the  place,  for  I  tell  my  patients 
the  truth,  and  cure  them  as  quickly  as  possible." 

Arden's  urgency  soon  brought  him  to  Edith's 
side,  and  his  practised  eye  saw  no  serious  cause  for 
alarm,  and  having  heard  more  fully  the  circum- 
stances, said, 

"  She  will  be  well  in  a  few  days  if  she  is  kept 
very  quiet,  and  nothing  new  sets  in.  Of  course 
she  would  be  sick  after  last  night.  One  might  as 
well  put  his  hand  in  the  fire  and  not  expect  it  to 
burn  him,  as  to  get  very  warm  and  then  cool  off 
suddenly  without  being  ill.  Her  pulse  indicates 
general  depression  of  her  system,  and  need  of  rest. 
That's  all." 

After  prescribing  remedies  ana  a  tonic,  he  said, 
"  Let  me  know  if  I  am  needed  again,"  and  departed 
in  rather  ill  humor. 

Meeting  Arden's  anxious,  questioning  face  at  the 
gate,  he  said  gruffly, 

"  I  thought  from  what  you  said  the  girl  was  dy- 
ing. Used  up  and  a  bad  cold,  that's  all.  Somewhat 
feverish  yourself,  ain't  you  ?  "  he  added  meaningly. 

Though  Arden  colored  under  the  doctor's  satire, 
he  was  chiefly  conscious  of  a  great  relief  that  his 
idol  was  not  in  danger.  His  only  reply  was  the 
sullen,  impassive  expression  he  usually  turned  to- 
ward the  world. 

As  the  doctor  rode  away,  Hannibal  joined  him, 
saying. 


EDITH'S  TRUE  KNIGHT.  325 

"  Mr.  Lacey,  you'se  a  friend  in  need,  and  if  you 
only  knowed  what  an  angel  you'se  serving,  you 
wouldn't  look  so  cross." 

"Do  I  look  cross?"  asked  Arden,  his  face  be- 
coming friendly  in  a  moment.  "  Well,  it  wasn't 
with  you,  still  less  with  Miss  Edith ;  for  even  you 
cannot  serve  her  more  gladly  than  I  will.  That  old 
doctor  riled  me  a  little,  though  I  can  forgive  him, 
since  he  says  she  is  not  seriously  ill." 

"  I'se  glad  you  feels  your  privileges,"  said  Hanni- 
bal, with  some  dignity.  "  I'se  knowed  Miss  Edie 
eber  since  she  was  a  baby,  and  when  we  lived  on  de 
Avenue,  de  biggest  and  beautifullest  in  de  city 
come  to  our  house,  but  none  of  'em  could  compare 
with  my  young  lady.  I  don't  care  what  folks  say, 
she's  jes  as  good  now,  if  she  be  poor,  and  her  sister 
hab  run  away,  poor  chile.  De  world  don't  know 
all ;  "  and  old  Hannibal  shook  his  white  head  sadly 
and  reproachfully. 

His  panegyric  found  strong  echo  in  Arden's  heart, 
but  his  habit  of  reticence  and  sensitive  shrinking 
from  showing  his  feelings  to  others,  permitted  him 
only  to  say,  "  I  am  sure  every  word  you  say  is  more 
than  true,  and  you  will  do  me  a  great  favor  when 
you  let  me  know  how  I  can  serve  Miss  Edith." 

Hannibal  saw  that  he  need  waste  no  more  ammu- 
nition on  Arden,  so  he  pulled  out  the  prescriptions, 
and  said  : 

"  The  Doctor  guv  me  dese,  but,  Lor  bress  you, 
my  ole  jints  is  stiff,  and  I'd  be  a  week  in  gitlin 
down  and  back  from  de  willage." 


326  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DO? 

"  That's  enough,"  interrupted  Arden,  "you  shall 
have  the  medicines  in  half  an  hour;"  and  he  kept 
his  word. 

"  He  is  quar,"  muttered  Hannibal,  looking  after 
him.  "  Neber  saw  a  man  so  'bligin*.  Folks  say 
\vinegar  ain't  nothin'  to  him,  but  he  seems  sweet  on 
Miss  Edie,  sure  'nuff.  What  'ud  he  say,  '  You'se 
do  me  great  favor  to  tell  me  how  I  can  serve  Miss 
Edie  ?  '  I'se  hope  it  '11  last,"  chuckled  Hannibal, 
retiring  to  his  domain  in  the  kitchen,  '  'cause  I'se 
gwine  to  do  him  a  heap  ob  favors." 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

A    MYSTERY. 

AT  Arden's  request  his  mother  called  in  the 
evening,  and  also  Mrs.  Groody,  from  the  hotel. 
Hannibal  met  them,  and  stated  the  doctor's  orders. 
Mrs.  Allen  and  Laura  did  not  feel  equal  to  facing 
any  one.  Though  the  old  servant  was  excessively 
polite,  the  callers  felt  rather  slighted  that  they  saw 
no  member  of  the  family.  They  went  away  a  little 
chilled  in  consequence,  and  contented  themselves 
thereafter  by  sending  a  few  delicacies  and  inquiring 
how  Edith  was. 

"  If  you  have  any  self-respect  at  all,"  said  Rose 
Lacey  to  her  mother,  "  you  will  not  go  there  again 
till  you  are  invited.  It's  rather  too  great  condescen- 
sion for  you  to  go  at  all,  after  what  has  happened." 

Arden  listened  with  a  black  look,  and  asked, 
rather  sharply, 

"  Will  you  never  learn  to  distinguish  between  Miss 
Edith  and  the  others?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Rose,  dryly,  "  when  she  gives  me  a 
chance." 

The  doctor's  view  of  Edith's  case  was  correct. 
Her  vigorous  and  elastic  constitution  soon  rallied 
from  the  shock  it  had  received.  Hannibal  had  sent 
to  the  village  for  nutritious  diet,  which  he  knew  so 


328  W11A  T  CAN  SHE  DO  ? 

well  how  to  prepare,  and,  after  a  few  days,  she  was 
quite  herself  again.  But  with  returning  strength 
came  also  a  sense  of  shame,  anxiety,  and  a  tortur- 
ing dread  of  the  future.  The  money  accruing  from 
her  last  sale  of  jewelry  would  not  pay  the  debts  rest- 
ing  on  them  now,  and  she  could  not  hope  to  earn 
enough  to  pay  the  balance  remaining,  in  addition  to 
their  support.  Her  mother  suggested  the  mortgag- 
ing of  her  place.  She  had  at  first  repelled  the  idea, 
but  at  last  entertained  it  reluctantly.  There  seemed 
no  other  resource.  It  would  put  off  the  evil  day  of 
utter  want,  and  might  give  her  time  to  learn  some- 
thing by  which  she  could  compete  with  trained 
workers. 

Then  there  was  the  garden.  Might  not  that  and 
the  orchard,  in  time,  help  them  out  of  their 
troubles  ? 

As  the  long  hours  of  her  convalescence  passed, 
she  sat  at  her  window  and  scanned  the  little  spot 
with  a  wistfulness  that  might  have  been  given  to 
one  of  Eden-like  proportions.  She  was  astonished 
to  see  how  her  strawberries  had  improved  since  she 
hoed  them,  but  noted  in  dismay  that  both  they  and 
the  rest  of  the  garden  were  growing  very  weedy. 

When  the  full  knowledge  of  their  poverty  and 
danger  dawned  upon  her,  she  felt  that  it  would  not 
be  right  for  Malcom  to  come  any  more.  At  the 
same  time  she  could  not  explain  things  to  him  ;  so 
she  sent  a  written  request  through  the  mail  for  his 
bill,  telling  him  not  to  come  any  more.  This  action 
following  the  evening  when  Gus  Elliott  had  surprised 


A    MYSTERY.  329 

her  in  the  garden,  perplexed  and.  rather  nettled 
Malcom,  who  was,  to  use  his  own  expression,  "  a 
bit  tetchy."  Their  money  had  grown  so  scarce  that 
Edith  could  not  pay  the  bill,  and  was  ashamed  to 
go  to  see  him  till  there  was  some  prospect  of  her 
doing  so.  Thus  Malcom,  though  disposed  to  be 
very  friendly,  was  lost  to  her  at  this  critical  time, 
and  her  garden  suffered  accordingly.  She  and  Han- 
nibal had  done  what  they  could,  but  of  late  her  ill- 
ness, and  the  great  accession  of  duties  resting  on 
the  old  servant,  had  caused  complete  neglect  in  her 
little  plantation  of  fruit  and  vegetables.  Thus, 
while  all  her  crops  were  growing  well,  the  weeds 
were  gaining  on  them,  and  even  Edith  knew  that 
the  vigor  of  evil  was  in  them,  and  that,  unchecked, 
they  would  soon  make  a  tangled  swamp  of  that  one 
little  place  of  hope.  She  could  not  ask  Hannibal 
to  work  there  now,  for  he  was  overburdened  already. 
Laura  seemed  so  feeble  and  crushed  that  her 
strength  was  scarcely  equal  to  taking  care  of  her 
mother,  and  the  few  lighter  duties  of  housework. 
Therefore,  though  the  June  sunshine  rested  on  the 
little  garden,  and  all  nature  seemed  in  the  rapture 
of  its  early  summer  life,  poor,  practical  Edith  saw 
only  the  pestiferous  weeds  that  threatened  to 
destroy-  her  one  slender  prospect  of  escape  from 
environing  difficulties.  At  last  she  turned  away. 
To  the  sad  and  suffering,  scenes  most  full  of  cheer 
and  beauty  often  seem  the  most  painful  mockery. 

She  brooded  over  her  affairs  most  of  the  day, 
dwelling  specially  on  the  suggestion  of  a  mortgage. 


33O  WHA  r  CAN  SHE  DO? 

She  felt  extreme  reluctance  in  periling  her  home. 
Then  again  she  said  to  herself,  "  It  will  at  least  give 
me  time,  and  perhaps  the  place  will  be  sold  for 
debt,  for  we  must  live." 

The  next  morning  she  slept  late,  her  weary,  over- 
taxed frame  asserting  its  need.  But  she  rose  greatly 
refreshed,  and  it  seemed  that  her  strength  had  come 
back  again.  With  returning  vigor  hopefulness  re- 
vived.  She  felt  some  cessation  of  the  weary,  aching 
sorrow  at  her  heart.  The  world  is  phosphorescent 
to  the  eyes  of  youth,  and  even  engulfing  waves  of 
misfortune  will  sometimes  gleam  with  sudden 
brightness. 

The  morning  light  also  brought  Edith  a  pleasant 
surprise,  for,  as  she  was  dressing,  her  eyes  eagerly 
sought  the  strawberry  bed.  She  had  been  thinking, 

"  If  I  only  continue  to  gain  in  this  style,  I  will 
soon  be  able  myself  to  attack  the  weeds." 

Therefore,  instead  of  the  helpless  look,  such  as 
she  gave  yesterday,  her  glance  had  something 
vengeful  and  threatening  in  it.  But  the  moment 
she  opened  the  lattice,  so  that  she  could  see,  an 
exclamation  came  from  her  lips,  and  she  threw  back 
the  blinds,  in  order  that  there  might  be  no  mistake 
as  to  the  wonder  that  startled  her.  What  magic 
had  transformed  the  little  place  since,  in  the  twi- 
light of  the  previous  evening,  she  had  given  the 
last  discouraged  look  in  that  direction  ?  There  was 
scarcely  a  weed  to  be  seen  in  the  strawberry  bed. 
They  had  not  only  been  cut  off,  but  raked  away 
and  here  and  there  she  could  see  a  berry  reddening 


A    MYSTERY.  331 

In  the  morning  sun.  In  addition,  some  of  her  most 
important  vegetables,  and  her  prettiest  flower  bor- 
der, had  been  cleaned  and  nicely  dressed.  A  long 
row  of  Dan  O'Rourk  peas,  that  had  commenced  to 
sprawl  on  the  ground,  was  now  hedged  in  by  brush  ; 
and,  better  still,  thirty  cedar  poles  stood  tall  and 
straight  among  her  Lima  beans,  that  had  been 
vainly  feeling  tound  for  a  support  the  last  few  days. 
Her  first  impulse  was  to  clap  her  hands  with 
delight  and  exclaim  : 

"  How,  in  the  name  of  wonder,  could  he  do  it 
all  in  a  night !  Oh,  Malcom,  you  are  a  canny 
Scotchman,  but  you  put  the  '  black  art '  to  very 
white  uses." 

She  dressed  in  excited  haste,  meaning  to  ques- 
tion Hannibal,  but,  as  she  left  her  room,  Laura 
met  her,  and  said,  in  a  tone  of  the  deepest  des- 
pondency, 

"  Mother  seems  very  ill.  She  has  not  felt  like 
herself  since  that  dreadful  night,  but  we  did  not 
like  to  tell  you,  fearing  it  would  put  back  your 
recovery." 

The  rift  ii\  the  heavy  clouds,  through  which  the 
sun  had  gleamed  for  a  moment,  now  closed,  and  a 
deeper  gloom  seemed  to  gather  round  them.  In 
sudden  revulsion  Edith  said,  bitterly : 

"  Are  we  to  be  persecuted  to  the  end  ?  Cannot 
the  heavy  hand  of  misfortune  be  lifted  a  moment?" 

She  found  her  mother  suffering  from  a  low 
nervous  fever,  and  quite  delirious. 

Hannibal  was  at  once  despatched  for  the  doctor 


'333  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DOt 

who,   having    examined   Mrs.   Allen's    symptoms, 
shook  his  head,  saying : 

"  Nothing  but  good  nursing  will  bring  her  through 
this." 

Edith's  heart  sank  like  lead.  What  prospect  was 
there  for  work  now,  even  if  Mrs.  Groody  gave  it  to 
her,  as  she  promised  ?  She  saw  nothing  but  the 
part  of  a  weary  watcher,  for  perhaps  several  weeks. 
She  hesitated  no  longer,  but  resolved  to  mortgage 
her  place  at  once.  Her  mother  must  have  delicacies 
and  good  attendance,  and  she  must  have  time  to  ex- 
tricate herself  from  the  difficulties  into  which  she  had 
been  brought  by  false  steps  at  the  beginning.  There- 
fore she  told  Hannibal  to  give  her  an  early  lunch, 
after  which  she  would  walk  to  the  village. 
"  You  is'nt  able,"  said  he  earnestly. 

"  Oh  yes,  I  am,"  she  replied  ;  "  better  able  than 
to  stay  home  and  worry.  I  must  have  something 
settled,  and  my  mind  at  rest,  even  for  a  little  while, 
or  I  will  go  distracted."  Then  she  added,  "  Did 
you  see  Malcom  here  early  this  morning." 

"  No,  Miss  Edie,  he  hasn't  been  here." 

"  Go  look  at  the  garden." 

He  returned  with  eyes  dilated  in  wonder,  and 
asked  quickly,  "  Miss  Edie,  when  was  all  dat 
done."  . 

"  Between  dark  last  night  and  when  I  got  up  tJ.ia 
morning.  It  seems  like  magic,  don't  it?  But  of 
course  it  is  Malcom's  work.  I  only  wish  I  could 
see  him. ' 

But  Hannibal  shook  his  head  ominously  and  said 


A    MYSTEKY.  333 

with  emphasis,  "  Dat  little  Scotchman  couldn't 
scratch  around  like  dat,  even  if  de  Debel  was  arter 
him.  'Taint  his  work." 

"  Why,  whose  else  could  it  be  ?  "  asked  Edith, 
sipping  a  strong  cup  of  coffee,  with  which  she  was 
fortifying  herself  for  the  walk. 

Hannibal  only  shook  his  head  with  a  very  trou- 
bled expression,  but  at  last  he  ventured, 

"  If  tis  a  spook,  I  hope  it  won't  do  nothing 
wuss  to  us." 

Even  across  Edith's  pale  face  a  wan  smile  flitted 
at  this  solution  of  the  mystery,  and  she  said, 

"  Why,  Hannibal,  you  foolish  old  fellow.  The 
idea  of  a  ghost  hoeing  a  strawberry  bed  and  stick- 
ing in  bean-poles  ! " 

But  Hannibal's  superstitious  nature  was  deeply 
stirred.  He  had  been  under  a  severe  strain  himself 
of  late,  and  the  succession  of  sorrows  and  strange 
experiences  was  telling  on  him  as  well  as  the  others. 
He  could  not  indulge  in  a  nervous  fever,  like  Mrs. 
Allen,  but  he  had  reached  that  stage  when  he  could 
easily  see  visions,  and  tremble  before  the  slightest 
vestige  of  the  supernatural.  So  he  replied  a  little 
doggedly ; 

"  Spooks  does  a  heap  ob  quar  tings,  Miss  Edie. 
I'd  tink  it  was  Massa  Allen,  ony  I  knows  dat  he 
neber  hab  a  hoe  in  his  hand  all  his  life.  I  doesn't 
like  it.  I'd  radder  hab  de  weeds." 

"_O  Hannibal,  Hannibal !  I  couldn't  believe  it  of 
you.  I'll  go  and  see  Malcom,  just  to  satisfy  }  ou." 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

v 

A  DANGEROUS  STEP. 

EDITH  took  her  deed,  and  went  first  to  Mr. 
Hard.  There  was  both  coldness  and  curiosity 
in  his  manner,  but  he  could  gather  little  from 
Edith's  face  through  her  thick  vail. 

She  had  a  painful  shrinking  from  meeting  people 
again  after  what  had  happened,  and  this  was  greatly 
increased  by  the  curious  and  significant  looks  she 
saw  turned  toward  her  as  soon  as  it  was  surmised 
who  she  was. 

Mr.  Hard  promptly  declined  to  lend  any  money, 
He  "  Never  did  such  things,"  he  said. 

"  Where  would  I  be  apt  to  get  it  ?  "  asked  Edith, 
despondently. 

"  I  scarcely  know.  Money  is  scarce,  and  people 
don't  like  to  lend  it  on  country  mortgages,  especially 
when  there  may  be  trouble.  Lawyer  Keen  might 
give  you  some  information." 

To  his  office  Edith  went,  with  slow,  heavy  steps, 
and  presented  her  case. 

Mr.  Keen  was  a  red-faced,  burly-looking  man, 
hiding  the  traditional  shrewdness  of  a  village  lawyer 
under  a  bluff,  outspoken  manner.  He  had  a  sort  of 
good-nature,  which,  though  not  leading  him  to  help 
others  who  were  in  trouble,  kept  him  from  trying  to 


A  DANGEROUS  STEP.  335 

get  them  into  more  trouble,  and  he  quite  prided 
himself  on  this.  He  heard  Edith  partly  through, 
and  then  interrupted  her,  saying: 

"  Couldn't  think  of  it,  Miss.  Widows,  orphans, 
and  churches,  are  institutions  on  which  a  fellow  can 
never  foreclose.  I'll  give  you  good  advice,  and 
won't  charge  you  anything  for  it.  You  had  better 
keep  out  of  debt." 

"  But  I  must  have  the  money,"  said  Edith. 

"  Then  you  have  come  to  the  wrong  shop  for  it," 
replied  the  lawyer,  coolly.  "  Here's  Crowl,  now, 
he  lends  where  I  wouldn't.  He's  got  money  of  his 
own,  while  I  invest  mainly  for  other  people." 

Edith's  attention  was  thus  directed  to  another 
red-faced  man,  whom,  thus  far,  she  had  scarcely 
noticed,  though  he  had  been  watching  her  with  the 
closest  scrutiny.  He  was  quite  corpulent,  past 
middle  age,  and  in  height  not  much  taller  than  her- 
self. He  was  quite  bald,  and  had  what  seemed  a 
black  moustache,  but  Edith's  quick  eye  noted  that 
it  was  unskilfully  dyed.  There  seemed  a  wide  ex- 
panse in  his  heavy,  flabby  cheeks,  and  the  rather 
puggish  nose  looked  insignificant  between  them.  A 
slight  tobacco  stain  in  one  corner  of  his  mouth  did 
not  increase  his  attractions  to  Edith,  and  she  posi- 
tively shrank  from  the  expression  of  his  small,  cun- 
ning black  eyes.  He  was  dressed  both  loudly  and 
shabbily,  and  a  great  breastpin  was  like  a  blotch 
upon  his  rumpled  shirt-bosom. 

"  Let  me  see  your  deed,  my  dear,"  he  said,  with 
coarse  familiarity. 


336  Y/l! AT  CAN  SHE  DOt 

"  My  name  is  Miss  Allen,"  replied  Edith,  with 
dignity. 

The  man  paid  little  heed  to  her  rebuke,  but  looked 
over  the  deed  with  slow  and  microscopic  scrutiny. 
At  last  he  said  to  Edith,  whom  nothing  but  dire 
necessity  impelled  to  have  dealings  with  so  dis- 
agreeable a  person, 

"  Will  you  come  with  me  to  my  office?" 

Reluctantly  she  followed.  At  first  she  had  a 
strong  impulse  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  him,  but 
then  had  thought,  "  It  makes  no  difference  of  whom 
I  borrow  the  money,  for  it  must  be  paid  in  any  case, 
and  perhaps  I  can't  get  it  anywhere  else." 

"Are  you  sure  there  is  no  other  mortgage?  "  he 
asked. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Edith. 

"How  much  do  you  want?" 

"  I  will  try  to  make  four  hundred  answer." 

"  I  suppose  you  know  how  hard  it  is  to  borrow 
money  now,"  said  Mr.  Crowl,  in  a  depressing  man- 
ner, "  especially  in  cases  like  this.  I  don't  believe 
you'd  get  a  dollar  anywhere  else  in  town.  Even 
where  everything  is  good  and  promising,  we  usually 
get  a  bonus  on  such  a  loan.  The  best  I  could  do 
would  be  to  let  you  have  three  hundred  and  sixty 
on  such  a  mortgage." 

"  Then  give  me  my  deed.  The  security  is  good, 
and  I'm  not  willing  to  pay  more  than  seven  per  cent." 

Old  Crowl  looked  a  moment  at  her  resolute  face, 
beautiful  even  in  its  pallor  and  pain,  and  a  new 
thought  seemed  to  strike  him. 


A  DANGEROUS  STEP.  337 

"  Well,  well,"  said  he,  with  an  awkward  show  of 
gallantry,  "  one  can't  do  business  with  a  pretty  girl 
a?  with  a  man.  You  shall  make  your  own  terms." 

"  I  wish  to  make  no  terms  whatever,"  said  Edith, 
frigidly.  "  I  only  expect  what  is  right  and  just." 

"  And  I'm  the  man  that'll  do  what's  right  and 
ju.it  when  appealed  to  by  the  fair  unfortunate,"  said 
Mr.  Crowl,  with  a  wave  of  his  hand. 

Edith's  only  response  to  this  sentiment  was  a 
frown,  and  an  impatient  tapping  of  the  floor  with 
her  foot. 

"Now,  see  how  I  trust  you,"  he  continued,  filling 
out  a  check.  "There  is  the  money.  I'll  draw  up 
the  papers,  and  you  may  sign  them  at  your  leisure. 
Only  just  put  your  name  to  this  receipt,  which  gives 
the  nature  of  our  transaction  ;  "  and,  in  a  scrawling 
hand,  he  soon  stated  the  case. 

It  was  with  strong  misgivings  that  Edith  took 
the  money  and  gave  her  signature,  but  she  did  not 
see  what  else  to  do,  and  she  was  already  very 
weary. 

"  You  may  call  again  the  first  time  you  are  in  the 
village,  and  by  that  time  I'll  have  things  fixed  up. 
You  see  now  what  it  is  to  have  a  friend  in  need." 

Edith's  only  reply  was  a  bow,  and  she  hastened 
to  the  bank.  The  cashier  looked  curiously  at  her, 
smiled  a  little  significant  smile  as  he  saw  Growl's 
check,  which  she  did  not  like,  but,  at  her  request, 
placed  it,  and  what  was  left  from  the  second  sale 
of  jewelry,  to  her  credit,  and  gave  her  a  small 
^heck-book. 

15 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

SCORN  AND  KINDNESS. 

her  strength  hardly  seemed  equal  to 
-•-  it,  she  determined  to  go  and  see  Malcom,  for 
she  felt  very  grateful  to  him.  And  yet,  the  little 
time  she  had  been  in  the  village  made  her  fear  to 
speak  to  him  or  any  one  again,  and  she  almost  felt 
that  she  would  like  to  shrink  into  some  hidden  place 
and  die. 

Quiet,  respectable  Pushton  had  been  dreadfull) 
scandalized  by  Zell's  elopement  with  a  man  who 
by  one  brief  visit,  had  gained  such  bad  notoriety. 
Those  who  had  stood  aloof,  surmised,  and  doubted 
about  the  Aliens  before,  now  said,  triumphantly, 
"  I  told  you  so."  Good,  kind,  Christian  people 
were  deeply  pained  that  such  a  thing  could  have 
happened  ;  and  it  came  to  be  the  general  opinion 
that  the  Aliens  were  anything  but  an  acquisition 
to  the  neighborhood. 

"  If  they  are  going  to  bring  that  style  of  men 
here,  the  sooner  they  move  away  the  better,"  was  a 
frequent  remark.  All  save  the  "  baser  sort  "  shrank 
from  having  much  to  do  with  them,  and  again  Edith 
tvas  insulted  by  the  bold  advances  of  some  brazen 


SCORN  AN&  KINDNESS.  3  $g 

clerks  and  shop-boys  as  she  passed  along.  She  also 
saw  significant  glances  and  whisperings,  and  once 
01  twice  detected  a  pointing  finger. 

With  cheeks  burning  with  shame  and  knees 
trembling  with  weakness,  she  reached  Malcom's 
gate,  to  which  she  clung  panting  for  a  moment,  and 
then  passed  in.  The  little  man  had  his  coat  off,  and, 
stooping  in  his  strawberry  bed,  he  did  look 
very  small  indeed.  Edith  approached  quite  near  be- 
fore  he  noticed  her.  He  suddenly  straightened 
himself  up  almost  as  a  jumping-jack  might,  and 
gave  her  a  sharp,  surprised  look.  He  had  heard  the 
gossip  in  several  distorted  forms,  but  what  hurt 
him  most  was  that  she  did  not  come  or  send  to  him. 
But  when  he  saw  her  standing  before  him  with  her 
head  bent  down  like  a  moss  rosebud  wilting  in  the 
sun,  when  he  met  her  timid  deprecating  glance,  his 
soft  heart  relented  instantly,  and  coming  toward 
her  he  said : 

"  An  ha'  ye  coom  to  see  ould  Malcom  at  last  ? 
What  ha'  I  dune  that  I  should  be  sae  forgotten  ?  " 

"  You  were  not  forgotten,  Mr.  McTrump.  God 
knows  that  I  have  too  few  friends  to  forget  the  best 
of  them,"  answered  Edith,  in  a  voice  of  tremulous 
pathos. 

After  that  Malcom  was  wax  in  her  hands,  and 
with  moistened  eyes  he  stood  gazing  at  her  in  un- 
disguised admiration. 

"  I  have  been  through  deep  trouble,  Mr. 
McTrump,"  continued  she,  "  and  perhaps  you,  like 
BO  many  others,  may  think  me  not  fit  to  speak  to 


340  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DO ? 

you  any  more.  Besides,  I  have  been  very  sick,  and 
really  ought  not  to  be  out  to-day.  Indeed  I  feel 
very  weak.  Isn't  there  some  place  where  I  could 
sit  down  ?  " 

"  Now  God  forgie  me  for  an  uncoo  Highlander," 
cried  Malcom,  springing  forward,  "  to  think  that  I 
suld  let  ye  ston  there,  like  a  tall,  white,  swayin'  calla 
lily,  in  the  rough  wind.  Take  me  arm  till  I  support 
ye  to  the  best  room  o*  me  house." 

Edith  did  take  and  cling  to  it  with  the  feeling  of 
one  ready  to  fall. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  McTrump,  you  are  too  kind,"  she  mur- 
mured. 

"  Why  suld  I  not  be  kind  ? "  he  said,  heartily, 
"  when  I  see  ye  rtipt  by  the  wourld's  unkindness  ? 
Why  suld  I  not  be  kind  ?  Is  the  rose  there  to 
blame  because  a  weed  has  grown  alongside  ?  Ye 
could  na  help  it  that  the  wild  bird  flitted,  and  I 
heerd  how  ye  roon  like  a  brave  lassie  to  stop  her. 
But  the  evil  wourld  is  quick  to  see  the  bad  and  slow 
to  see  the  gude."  And  Malcom  escorted  her  like 
a  "  leddy  o'  high  degree  "  to  his  little  parlor,  and 
there  she  told  him  and  his  wife  all  her  trouble,  and 
Malcom  seemed  afflicted  with  a  sudden  cold  in  his 
head.  Then  Mrs.  McTrump  bustled  in  and  out  in 
a  breezy  eagerness  to  make  her  comfortable. 

"  Ye're  a  stranger  in  our  toon,"  she  said,  "  and 
sae  I  was  once  mysel,  an'  I  ken  how  ye  feel." 

"  An  the  Gude  Book,  which  I  hope  ye  read," 
added  the  gallant  Malcom,  "  says  hooin  entertain 
in  a  stranger  ye  may  ha'  an  angel  aroond." 


SCORN  AND  KINLNESS.  341 

"  Oh,  Mr.  McTrump,"  said  Edith,  with  peony-like 
face,  "  Hannibal  is  the  only  one  who  calls  me  that, 
and  he  don't  know  any  better." 

"  Why  suld  he  know  ony  better,"  responded  Mai- 
com,  quickly.  "  I  ha  never  seen  an  angel,  na  mair 
than  I  ha  seen  a  goolden  harp,  but  I'm  a-thinkin  a 
modist  bonny  lassie  like  yoursel,  cooms  as  near  to 
ane  as  anything  can  in  this  wourld." 

"  But,  Mr.  McTrump,"  said  Edith,  with  a  half  pa- 
thetic, half  comic  face,  "  I  am  in  such  deep  trouble 
that  I  will  soon  grow  old  and  wrinkled,  so  I  shall 
not  be  an  angel  long." 

"  Na,  na,  dinna  say  that,"  said  Malcom  earnestly. 
"  An  ye  will,  ye  may  keepit  the  angel  a-growin 
within  ye  alway,  though  ye  live  as  old  as  Methuselah. 
D'ye  see  this  wee  brown  seed  ?  There  s  a  morn  in- 
glory  vine  hidden  in  it,  as  would  daze  your  een  at 
the  peep  o'  day  wi'  its  gay  blossoms.  An  ye  see 
my  ould  gude  wife  there  ?  Ah,  she  will  daze  the 
een  o'  the  greatest  o'  the  earth  in  the  bright  spring- 
time o'  the  Resurrection ;  and  though  I'm  a  little 
mon  here,  it  may  be  I'll  see  o'er  the  heads  of  soom 
up  there." 

"An  ye  had  true  humeelity  ye'd  be  a-hopin  to  get 
there,  instead  of  expectin  to  speir  o'er  the  heads  o' 
ye're  betters,"  said  his  wife  in  a  rebuking  tone. 

"  '  A-hopin  to  get  there !' "  said  Malcom  with 
some  warmth.  "  Why  suld  I  hope  when  '  I  know 
that  my  Redeemer  liveth  ? ' ' 

Edith's  eyes  filled  with  wistful  tears,  for  the 
quaint  talk  of  these  old  people  suggested  a  hope  and 


342  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DO? 

faith  that  she  knew  nothing  of.  But,  in  a  low  voice, 
she  said,  "  Why  does  God  let  his  creatures  suffer  so 
much?  " 

"  Bless  your  heart,  puir  child,  He  suffered  mair 
than  ony  on  us,"  said  Malcom  tenderly.  "  But 
ye'll  learn  it  a'  soon.  He  who  fed  the  famishin 
would  bid  ye  eat  noo.  But  wait  a  bit  till  ye  see 
what  I'll  bring  ye." 

In  a  moment  he  was  back  with  a  dainty  basket  of 
Triomphe  de  Gand  strawberries,  and  Edith  uttered 
an  exclamation  of  delight  as  she  inhaled  their  deli- 
cious aroma. 

"  They  are  the  first  ripe  the  season,  an  noo  see 
what  the  gude  wife  will  do  with  them." 

Soon  their  hulls  were  off,  and,  swimming  in  a 
saucer  of  cream,  they  were  added  to  the  dainty  little 
lunch  that  Mrs.  McTrump  had  prepared. 

"  Oh  !  "  exclaimed  Edith,  drawing  a  long  breath, 
"  You  can't  know  how  you  ease  my  poor  sore  heart. 
I  began  to  think  all  the  world  was  against  me." 

At  this  Malcom  beat  such  a  precipitate  retreat 
that  he  half  stumbled  over  a  chair,  but  outside  the 
door  he  ventured  to  say : 

"An  ye  coom  out  I'll  cut  ye  a  posy  before  ye 
go."  But  Edith  saw  him  rub  his  rough  sleeve  across 
his  eyes  as  he  passed  the  window.  His  wife  said, 
in  a  grave  gentle  tone, 

"  Would  ye  might  learn  to  know  Him  who  said, 
*  Be  of  good  cheer,  I  have  overco.ne  the  wourld.'  " 

Edith  shook  her  head  sadly,  and  said,  '  I  don't 
understand  Him,  and  He  seems  far  off." 


SCOF.N  AND  KINDNESS,  343 

"  It's  only  seemin,  me  dear,"  said  the  uld  woman 
kindly,  "  but,  as  Malcom  says,  ye'll  learn  it  a*  by 
and  by." 

Mrs.  McTrump  was  one  of  those  simple  souls 
who  never  presume  to  "  talk  religion  "  to  any  one. 
44 1  can  ony  venture  what  I  hope  '11  be  a  *  word  in 
season  '  noo  and  then,  as  the  Maister  gies  me  a 
chance,"  she  would  say  to  her  husband. 

Though  she  did  not  know  it,  she  had  spread 
before  Edith  a  Gospel  feast,  and  her  genuine,  hearty 
sympathy  was  teaching  more  than  eloquent  sermons 
could  have  done,  and  already  the  grateful  girl  was 
questioning, 

"  What  makes  these  people  differ  so  from 
others  ?  " 

With  some  dismay  she  saw  how  late  it  was  grow- 
ing, and  hastened  out  to  Malcom,  who  had  cut  an 
exquisite  little  bouquet  for  her,  and  had  another 
basket  of  berries  for  her  to  take  to  her  mother. 

"  Mr.  McTrump,"  said  Edith,  "  it's  time  we  had 
a  settlement ;  your  kindness  I  never  can,  or  expect 
to  repay,  but  I  am  able  now  to  carry  out  my  agree- 
ment." 

"  Don't  bother  me  wi*  that  noo,"  said  Malcom, 
rather  testily,  "  I  ha  no  time  to  make  oot  your  ac- 
coont  in  the  hight  o'  the  season.  Let  it  ston  till  I 
ha  time ;  an  ye  might  help  me  soomtimes  make 
up  posies  for  the  grand  folk  at  the  hotel.  But  how 
does  your  garden  sin  ye  dismissed  ould  Mai- 
com  ?  " 

•*  Oh,  Mr.  McTrump,"  said  Edith,  slyly,  "  do  you 


344  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  D0f 

know  you  almost  scared  old  Hannibal  out  of  hi* 
wits  by  the  wonders  you  wrought  last  night  or  this 
morning  in  that  same  garden  you  inquire  about 
so  innocently.  How  can  you  work  so  fast  and 
hard?" 

"  The  woonders  I  wrought !  Indeed  I've  not  been 
near  the  garden  sin  ye  told  me  not  to  coom.  Ye 
could  hardly  expect  otherwise  of  a  Scotchman." 

"  Who,  then,  could  it  be  ?  "  said  Edith,  a  little 
startled  herself  now,  and  she  explained  the  mystery 
of  the  garden. 

He  was  as  nonplussed  as  herself,  but,  scratching 
his  bushy  head,  he  said,  with  a  canny  look,  "  I  wud 
be  glad  if  Hannibal's  '  spook,'  as  he  ca's  it,  would 
coom  doon  and  hoe  a  bit  for  me,''  and  Edith  was 
so  cheered  and  refreshed  that  she  could  even  join 
him  in  the  laugh. 

They  sent  her  away  enveloped  in  the  fragrance  of 
strawberries  and  roses  from  the  little  basket  she 
carried.  But  the  more  grateful  aroma  of  human 
sympathy  seemed  to  create  a  buoyant  atmosphere 
around  her ;  and  she  passed  back  through  the  vil- 
lage strengthened  and  armed  against  the  cold  or 
scornful  looks  of  those  who,  knowing  her  to  be 
"wounded,"  had  not  even  the  grace  to  pass  by 
indifferently  "  on  the  other  side.' 


CHAPTER  XXV 

A  HORROR  OF  GREAT  DARKNESS 

BY  the  time  Edith  reached  home  the  transient 
strength  and  transient  brightening  of  the 
skies  seemed  to  pass  away.  Her  mother  was  no 
better.  She  saw  too  plainly  the  grisly  specters,  care, 
want,  and  shame  upon  her  hearth,  to  fear  any  good 
fairy  that  left  such  traces  as  she  saw  in  her  garden. 
But  the  mystery  troubled  her ;  she  longed  to  know 
who  it  was.  As  she  mused  upon  it  on  her  way 
home,  Arden  Lacey  suddenly  occurred  to  her,  and 
there  was  a  glimmer  of  a  smile  and  a  faint  increase 
of  color  on  her  pale  face.  But  she  did  not  suggest 
her  suspicion  to  Hannibal,  when  he  eagerly  asked  if 
it  were  Malcom. 

"  No,  strange  to  say,  it  was  not,"  said  Edith. 
"  Who  could  it  have  been  ?  " 

Hannibal's  face  fell,  and  he  looked  very  solemn. 
"  Sumpen  awful  's  goin  to  happen,  Miss  Edie," 
he  said,  in  a  sepulchral  tone. 

Edith  broke  into  a  sudden  reckless  laugh,  and 
said,  "  I  think  something  awful  is  happening  about 
as  fast  as  it  can.  But  never  mind,  Hannibal,  we'll 
watch  to-night,  and  perhaps  he  will  come  again." 

"O,  Miss  Edie,  I'se  hope  you'll  'scuse  me.  I 
couldn't  watch  for  a  spook  to  save  my  life.  I's«j 


346  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DO  T 

gwine  to  bed  as  soon  as  it's  dark,  and  cover  up  my 
head  till  mornin'." 

"  Very  well,'  said  Edith,  quietly.  "  I'm  going 
to  sit  up  with  mother  to-night,  and  if  it  comes 
again,  I'll  see  it." 

"  De  good  Lord  keep  you  safe,  Miss  Edie,*'  said 
Hannibal,  tremblingly.  "  You'se  know  I'd  die  for 
you  in  a  minit ;  but  Fse  couldn't  watch  for  a  spook 
nohow,"  and  Hannibal  crept  away,  looking  as  if 
the  very  worst  had  now  befallen  them. 

Edith  was  too  weary  and  sad  even  to  smile  at 
the  absurd  superstition  of  her  old  servant,  for,  with 
her  practical,  positive  nature  she  could  scarcely 
understand  how  even  the  most  ignorant  could  har- 
bor such  delusions.  She  said  to  Laura,  "  Let  me 
sleep  till  nine  o'clock,  and  then  I  will  watch  till 
morning." 

Laura  did  not  waken  her  till  ten. 

After  Edith  had  shaken  off  her  lethargy,  she  said, 
•*  Why,  Laura,  you  look  ready  to  faint !  " 

With  a  despairing  little  cry,  Laura  threw  herself 
on  the  floor,  and  buried  her  face  in  her  sister's  lap, 
sobbing : 

"  I  am  ready  to  faint — body  and  soul.  O  Edie, 
Edie,  what  shall  we  dor*  Oh,  that  I  were  sure 
death  was  an  eternal  sleep,  as  some  say,  how 
gladly  I  would  close  my  eyes  to-night  and  never 
wish  to  open  them  again  !  My  heart  is  ashes,  and 
my  hope  is  dead.  And  yet  I  am  afraid  to  die,  and 
more  afraid  to  live.  Ever  since — Zell — went— the 
future  has  been— a  terror  to  me.  Edith,"  she  con- 


A  HORROR  OF  CREA  T  DARKNESS.  347 

tinned,  after  a  moment,  in  a  low  voice,  that  trem- 
bled and  was  full  of  dread,  "  Zell  has  not  written— 
'the  silence  of  the  grave  seems  to  have  swallowed 
her.  He  has  not  married  her!  "  and  an  agony  of 
grief  convulsed  Laura's  slight  frame. 

Edith's  eyes  grew  hard  and  tearless,  and  she  said 
sternly,  "  It  were  better  the  grave  had  swallowed 
her  than  such  a  gulf  of  infamy." 

Laura  suddenly  became  still,  her  sobs  ceasing. 
Slowly  she  raised  such  a  white,  terror-stricken  face, 
that  Edith  was  startled.  She  had  never  seen  her 
elder  sister,  once  so  stately  and  proud,  then  so 
apathetic,  moved  like  this. 

"  Edith,"  she  said,  in  an  awed  whisper,  "  what  is 
there  before  us  ?  Zell's  flight  has  revealed  to  me 
where  we  stand,  like  a  flash  of  lightning,  and  ever 
since  I  have  brooded  over  our  situation,  till  it  seems 
I  would  go  mad.  There's  an  awful  gulf  before  us, 
and  every  day  we  are  being  pushed  nearer  to  it ;" 
and  Laura's  large  blue  eyes  were  dilated  with  horror, 
as  if  she  saw  it. 

"  Mother  is  going  to  die,"  she  continued,  in  a 
tone  that  chilled  Edith's  soul.  "  Our  money  will 
soon  be  gone  ;  we  then  will  be  driven  away  even 
from  this  poor  shelter,  out  upon  the  streets — to 
New  York,  or  somewhere.  Edith,  O  Edith,  don't 
you  see  the  gulf?  What  else  is  before  us  ?" 

"  Honest  work  is  before  me,"  said  Edith,  almost 
fiercely.  "  I  will  compel  the  world  to  give  me  a 
place,  at  least,  entitled  to  respect." 

Laura  shook  her  head  despairingly.     "  You  may 


343  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DO? 

struggle  back  and  up  to  where  you  are  safe.  You 
are  good  and  strong.  But  there  are  so  many  poor 
girls  in  the  world  like  me,  who  are  not  good  and 
strong.  Everything  seems  to  combine  to  push  a 
helpless,  friendless  woman  towards  that  gulf.  Poor 
rash,  impulsive  Zeli  saw  it,  and  could  not  endure 
the  slow,  remorseless  pressure,  as  one  might  be 
driven  over  a  precipice,  and  one  she  loved  seemed 
to  stand  ready  to  break  the  fall.  I  understand  her 
stony,  reckless  face  now." 

"  Ob,  Laura,  hush  !"  said  Edith,  desperately. 

"  I  must  speak,"  she  went  on,  in  the  same  low 
voice,  so  full  of  dread,  "  or  my  brain  will  burst.  I 
have  thought  and  thought,  and  seen  that  awful  gulf 
grow  nearer  and  nearer,  till  at  times  it  seemed  I 
should  shriek  with  terror.  For  two  nights  I  have 
not  slept.  Oh,  why  were  we  not  taught  something 
better  than  dressing  and  dancing,  and  those  hollow 
superficial  accomplishments  that  only  mock  us  now. 
Why  was  not  my  mind  and  body  developed  into 
something  like  strength  ?  I  would  gladly  turn  to 
the  coarsest  drudgery,  if  I  could  only  be  safe.  But 
after  what  has  happened,  no  good  people  will  have 
anything  to  do  with  us,  and  I  am  a  feeble,  helpless 
creature,  that  can  only  shrink  and  tremble  as  I  am 
pushed  nearer  and  nearer." 

Edith  seemed  turning  into  stone,  herself  para- 
lyzed by  Laura's  despair.  After  a  moment  Laura 
continued,  with  a  perceptible  shudder  in  her  voice: 

"  There  is  no  one  to  break  my  fall.  Oh,  that  I  was 
not  afraid  tc  die.  That  seems  the  only  resource  to 


A  FIOXROR  OF  CREA  T  DARKNESS,  349 

such  as  I.  If  I  could  just  end  it  all  by  becoming 
nothing " 

"  Laura,  Laura,"  cried  Edith,  starting  up,  "  cease 
your  wild  mad  words.  You  are  sick  and  morbid. 
You  are  more  delirious  than  mother  is.  We  can  get 
work  ;  there  are  good  people  who  will  take  care 
of  us." 

"  I  have  seen  nothing  that  looks  like  it,"  said 
Laura,  in  the  same  despairing  tone.  "  I  have  read 
of  just  such  things,  and  I  see  how  it  all  must 
end." 

"  Yes,  that's  just  it,"  said  Edith,  impatiently, 
"  You  have  read  so  many  wild  unnatural  stories  of 
life  that  you  are  ready  to  believe  anything  that  is 
horrible.  Listen,  I  have  over  four  hundred  dollars 
in  the  bank." 

"  How  did  you  get  it,"  asked  Laura,  quickly. 

"  I  have  followed  mother's  suggestion,  and  mort- 
gaged the  place." 

Laura  sank  into  a  chair,  and  became  so  de-i';My 
white  that  Edith  thought  she  would  faint.  At  Jast 
she  gasped, 

"Don't  you  see?  Even  you  in  your  strength 
can't  help  yourself.  You  are  being  pushed  cri,  too. 
You  said  you  would  not  follow  mother's  advice 
again,  because  it  always  led  to  trouble.  You  said, 
again  and  again,  you  would  not  mortgage  the  place, 
and  yet  you  have  done  it.  Now  it's  all  clear.  That 
mortgage  will  be  foreclosed,  and  then  we  will  be 

turned  out,  and  then "  and  she  covered  her 

face  with  her  Jiands.  "  Don't  you  see,"  she  aaid,  in 


3  50  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DO  t 

a  muffled  tone,  "  the  great  black  hand  reaching  out 
of  the  darkness  and  pushing  us  down  and  nearer? 
Oh,  that  I  wasn't  afraid  to  die." 

Edith  was  startled.  Even  her  positive  healthful 
nature  began  to  yield  to  the  contagion  of  Laura's 
morbid  despair.  She  felt  that  she  must  break  the 
spell  and  be  alone.  By  a  strong  effort  she  tried 
to  speak  in  her  natural  tone  and  confidence.  She 
tried  to  comfort  the  desperate  woman  by  endear- 
ing epithets,  as  if  she  were  a  child.  She  spoke 
of  those  simple  restoratives  which  are  so  often 
and  vainly  prescribed  for  mortal  wounds,  sleep  and 
rest. 

"  Go  to  bed,  poor  child,"  she  urged,  "  all  will  look 
differently  in  the  sunlight  to-morrow." 

But  Laura  scarcely  seemed  to  heed  her.  With 
weak,  uncertain  steps  she  drew  near  the  bed,  and 
turned  the  light  on  her  mother's  thin,  flushed  face 
and  stood,  with  clasped  hands,  looking  wistfully  at 
her. 

"  Yes,  my  dear,"  muttered  Mrs.  Allen  in  her 
delirium,  "  both  your  father  and  myself  would  give 
our  full  approval  to  your  marriage  with  Mr.  Goul- 
den."  The  poor  woman  made  watching  doubly 
hard  to  her  daughters,  since  she  kept  recalling  to 
them  the  happy  past  in  all  its  minutiae. 

Laura  turned  to  Edith  with  a  smile  that  was 
inexpressibly  sad,  and  said,  "  What  a  mockery 
it  all  is !  There  seems  nothing  real  in  this  world 
but  pain  and  danger.  Oh-  that  I  was  not  afraid 
to  die." 


A  HORROR  OF  GREAT  DARKNESS.  351 

"Laura,  Laura!  go  to  your  rest,"  exclaimed 
Edith,  "or  you  will  lose  your  reason.  Come  ;  "  and 
she  half  carried  the  poor  creature  to  her  room. 
"  Now,  leave  the  door  ajar,"  she  said,  "  for  if 
mother  is  worse  I  will  call  you." 

Edith  sat  down  to  her  weary  task  as  a  watcher, 
and  never  before,  in  all  the  sad  preceding  weeks,  had 
her  heart  been  so  heavy,  and  boding  of  evil.  Laura's 
words  kept  repeating  themselves  to  her,  and  ming- 
ling with  those  of  her  mother's  delirium,  thus 
strangely  blending  the  past  and  the  present.  Could 
it  be  true  that  they  were  helpless  in  the  hands  of  a 
cruel,  remorseless  fate,  that  was  pushing  them  down  ? 
Could  it  be  true  that  all  her  struggles  and  courage 
would  be  in  vain,  and  that  each  day  was  only  bring- 
ing them  nearer  to  the  desperation  of  utter  want  ? 
She  could  not  disguise  from  herself  that  Laura's 
dreadful  words  had  a  show  of  reason,  and  that,  per- 
haps, the  mortgage  she  had  given  that  day  meant 
that  they  would  soon  be  without  home  or  shelter  in 
the  great,  pitiless  world.  But,  with  set  teeth  and 
white  face,  she  muttered, 

4<  Death  first." 

Then,  with  a  startled  expression,  she  anxiously 
asked  herself:  "  Was  that  what  Laura  meant  when 
she  kept  saying, '  Oh,  if  I  wasn't  afraid  to  die  ! '  "  She 
went  to  her  sister's  door  and  listened.  Laura's 
movements  within  seemed  to  satisfy  her,  and  she 
returned  to  the  sick-room  and  sat  down  again. 
Putting  her  hand  upon  her  heart,  she  murmured  : 

"  I   am   completely  unnerved   to-night.     I  don't 


352  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DOt 

understand  myself;  "  and  she  looked  almost  as  pale 
and  despairing  as  Laura. 

She  was,  in  truth,  in  the  midst  of  that  "  horror 
of  great  darkness  "  that  comes  to  so  many  sti  ugglmg 
souls  in  a  world  upon  which  the  shadow  of  Fin 
rests  so  heavily. 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 

FRIEND  AND  SAVIOUR. 

KNOWING  of  no  other  source  of  help  save  an 
.  earthly  one,  her  thoughts  reverted  to  the  old 
Scotch  people  that  she  had  recently  visited.  Their 
sunlighted  garden,  and  happy,  homely  life,  their 
simple  faith,  seemed  the  best  antidote  for  her  present 
morbid  tendencies. 

"If  the  worst  comes  to  the  worst,  I  think  they 
would  take  us  in  for  a  little  while,  till  some  way 
opened,"  she  thought.  "Oh,  that  I  had  their  belief 
in  a  better  life,  then  it  wouldn't  seem  so  dreadful  to 
suffer  in  this  one.  Why  have  I  never  read  the 
'  Gude  Book,'  as  they  call  it  ?  But  I  never  seemed 
to  understand  it ;  still,  I  must  say,  that  I  never 
really  tried  to.  Perhaps  God  is  angry  with  us,  and 
is  punishing  us  for  so  forgetting  Him.  I  would 
rather  think  that,  than  to  feel  so  forgotten  and  lost 
sight  of.  It  seems  as  if  God  didn't  see  or  care.  It 
seems  as  if  I  could  cling  to  the  harshest  father  in  the 
world,  if  he  would  only  protect  and  help  me.  A  God 
of  wrath,  that  I  have  heard  clergymen  preach  of,  is 
not  so  dreadful  to  me  as  a  God  who  forgets,  and 
leaves  his  creatures  to  struggle  alone.  Our  minister 
was  so  cold  and  philosophical,  and  presented  a  God 
that  seemed  so  far  off,  that  I  felt  there  could  never 


354  WIIA  T  CAN  SHE  DOt 

be  anything  between  Him  and  me.  He  talked  about 
a  holy,  infinite  Being,  who  dwelt  alone  in  unap- 
proachable majesty  ;  and  I  want  some  one  to  stoop 
down  and  love  and  help  poor,  little  me.  He  talked 
about  a  religion  of  purity  and  good  works,  and  love 
to  our  fellow-men.  I  don't  know  how  to  work  for 
myself,  much  less  for  others,  and  it  seems  as  if 
nearly  all  my  fellow-creatures  hated  and  scorned  me, 
and  I  am  afraid  of  them  ;  so  I  don't  see  what  chance 
there  is  for  such  as  us.  If  we  had  only  remained 
rich,  and  lived  on  the  Avenue,  such  a  religion 
wouldn't  be  so  hard.  It  seems  strange  that  the 
Bible  should  teach  him  and  old  Malcom  so  differ- 
ently. But  I  suppose  he  is  wiser,  and  understands 
it  better.  Perhaps  it's  the  flowers  that  teach  Mal- 
com, for  he  always  seems  drawing  lessons  from 
them." 

Then  came  the  impulse  to  get  the  Bible  and  read 
it  for  herself.  "  The  impulse  !  "  from  whence  did  it 
come? 

When  Edith  felt  so  orphaned  and  alone,  forgot- 
ten even  of  God,  then  the  Divine  Father  was  nearest 
his  child.  When,  in  her  bitter  extremity,  at  this 
lonely  midnight  hour  she  realized  her  need  and 
helplessness  as  never  before,  her  great  Elder  Bro- 
ther was  waiting  beside  her. 

The  impu'.se  was  divine.  The  Spirit  of  God  was 
leading  her  as  He  is  seeking  to  lead  so  many.  It 
only  remained  for  her  to  follow  these  gentle  im- 
pulses, not  to  be  pushed  into  the  black  gulf  that  de- 
spairing Laura  dreaded,  but  to  be  led  into  the  deep 


FRIEND  AND  SAVIOUR.    '  355 

peace  of  a  loving  faith.  She  was  about  to  be  taught 
the  blessed  truth  that  God  is  "  not  far  from  every 
one  of  us,  if  haply  we  might  feel  after  Him  and  find 
Him." 

She  went  down  into  the  parlor  to  get  the  Bible 
that  in  her  hands  had  revealed  the  falseness  and 
baseness  of  Gus  Elliott,  and  the  thought  flashed 
through  her  mind  like  a  good  omen,  "  This  book 
stood  between  me  and  evil  once  before."  She  took 
it  to  the  light  and  rapidly  turned  its  pages,  trying  to 
find  some  clue,  someplace  of  hope,  for  she  was  sadly 
unfamiliar  with  it. 

Was  it  her  trembling  fingers  alone  that  turned 
the  pages?  No  ;  He  who  inspired  the  guide  she  con- 
sulted, guided  her,  for  soon  her  eyes  fell  upon  the 
sentence  : 

"  Come  unto  me  all  ye  that  labor  and.  are  heavy 
laden,  and  I  will  give  you  rest." 

The  words  came  with  such  vivid  power  and  mean- 
ing that  she  was  startled,  and  looked  around  as  if 
some  one  had  spoken  to  her.  They  so  perfectly 
met  her  need  that  it  seemed  they  must  be  addressed 
directly  to  her. 

"  Who  was  it  that  said  these  words,  and  what 
right  had  He  to  say  them?"  she  queried  eagerly, 
and  keeping  her  finger  on  the  passage  as  if  it  might 
be  a  clue  out  of  some  fatal  labyrinth,  she  turned  the 
leaves  backward  and  read  more  of  Him  with  the 
breathless  interest  that  some  poor  burdened  soul 
might  have  listened  eighteen  centuries  ago  to  a 
rumor  of  the  great  Prophet  who  had  suddenly  ap. 


356  WHAT  CAN  SHR  DO  I 

peared  with  signs  and  wonders  in  Palestine.  Then 
she  turned  and  read  again  and  again  the  sweet 
words  that  first  arrested  her  attention.  They  seemed 
more  luminous  and  hope-inspiring  eveiy  moment,  as 
their  significance  dawned  upon  her  like  the  coming 
of  day  after  night. 

Her  clear,  positive  mind  could  never  take  a  vague, 
dubious  impression  of  anything,  and  with  a  long- 
drawn  breath  she  said,  with  the  emphasis  of  perfect 
conviction : 

"  If  He  were  a  mere  man,  as  I  have  been  taught 
to  believe,  He  had  no  right  to  say  these  words. 
It  would  be  a  bitter,  wicked  mockery  for  man  or 
angel  to  speak  them.  Oh,  can  it  be  that  it  was 
God  himself  in  human  guise?  I  could  trust  such  a 
God." 

Again,  with  glowing  cheeks  and  parted  lips,  she 
commenced  reading,' and  in  her  eyes  was  the  grow- 
ing light  of  a  great  hope. 

The  upper  room  of  that  poor  little  cottage  was 
becoming  a  grand  and  sacred  place.  Heaven,  that 
honors  the  deathless  soul  above  all  localities,  was 
near.  The  God  who  was  not  in  the  vast  and  gold- 
incrusted  temple  on  Mount  Moriah,  sat  in  humble 
guise  at  "  Jacob's  well,"  and  said  to  one  of  His  poor 
guilty  creatures:  "  I  that  speak  unto  thee  am  He.' 
Cathedral  domes  and  cross-tipped  spires  indicated 
the  Divine  presence  on  every  hand  in  superstitious 
Rome,  but  it  would  seem  that  he  was  near  only  to  a 
poor  monk  creeping  up  Pilate's  staircase.  Though 
the  wealth  of  the  world  should  combine  to  build  a 


FRIEND  AND  SAVIOUR.  337 

colossal  church,  filling  it  with  every  sacred  emblem 
and  symbol,  and  causing  its  fretted  roof  to  resound 
with  unceasing  choral  service,  it  would  not  be  such 
a  claim  upon  the  great  Father's  heart  as  a  weak, 
pitiful  cry  to  Him  from  the  least  of  his  children. 
Though  Edith  knew  it  not,  that  Presence,  without 
which  all  temples  are  vain,  had  come  to  her  as  freely, 
as  closely,  as  truly  as  when  it  entered  the  cottage 
at  Bethany,  and  Mary  "  sat  at  Jesus'  feet  and  heard 
His  word."  Even  to  her,  in  this  night  of  trouble, 
in  this  stony  wilderness  of  care  and  fear,  as  to 
God's  trembling  servant  of  old,  a  ladder  of  light  was 
let  down  from  heaven,  and  on  it  her  faith  would 
climb  up  to  the  peace  and  rest  that  is  above,  and 
therefore  undisturbed  by  the  storms  that  rage  on 
earth. 

But  it  is  God's  way  to  make  us  free  through 
truth.  Christ,  when  on  earth,  did  not  deal  with 
men's  souls  as  with  their  bodies.  The  latter  he 
touched  into  instantaneous  cure ;  to  the  former 
He  appealed  with  patient  instruction  and  entreaty. 
To  the  former  revealed  Himself  by  word  and  deed, 
and  said:  In  view  of  what  I  prove  myself  to  be 
will  you  trust  me  ?  Will  you  follow  me  ? 

In  words  which,  though  spoken  so  long  ago,  are 
still  the  living  utterances  of  the  Spirit  to  every 
seeking  soul,  He  was  now  speaking  to  Edith,  and 
she  listened  with  the  wonder  and  hope  that  might 
have  stirred  the  heart  of  some  sorrowing  maiden 
like  herself,  when  His  voice  was  accompanied  by  the 
inusical  chime  of  waves  breaking  on  the  shores  of 


358  U'ffA  T  CAN  SHE  DO  t 

Galilee,  or  the  rustle  of  winds  through  the  grey 
olive  leives. 

Edith  came  to  the  source  of  all  truth  with  a  mind 
as  fresh  and  unprejudiced  as  that  of  one  who  saw 
and  heard  Jesus  for  the  first  time,  as,  in  his  mission 
journeys,  he  entered  some  little  town  of  the  Holy 
Land.  She  had  never  thought  much  about  Him, 
and  had  no  strong  preconceived  opinions.  She  was 
almost  utterly  ignorant  of  the  creeds  and  symbols 
of  men,  and  Christ  was  not  to  her,  as  He  is  to  so 
many,  the  embodiment  of  a  system  and  the  incarna- 
tion of  a  doctrine — a  vague,  half  realized  truth. 
When  she  thought  of  him  at  all,  it  had  been  as  a 
great,  good  man,  the  most  famous  religious  teacher 
of  the  past,  whose  life  had  nobly  "  adorned  a  tale 
and  pointed  a  moral."  But  this  would  not  answer 
any  more.  "  What  could  a  man,  dead  and  buried 
centuries  ago,  do  for  me  now?"  she  asked,  bitterly. 
"  I  want  one  who  can  with  right  speak  these 
words, 

"  '  Come  unto  me  all  ye  that  labor  and  are  heavy 
laden,  and  I  will  give  you  rest.'  " 

And  as,  with  finger  still  clinging  to  this  passage, 
she  read  of  miracle  and  parable,  now  trembling 
almost  under  the  "  Sermon  on  the  Mount,"  now 
tearful  under  the  tender  story  of  the  prodigal,  the 
feeling  came  in  upon  her  soul  like  the  rising  tide, 
"This  was  not  more  man." 

Then,  with  an  awe  she  had  never  felt  before,  she 
followed  him  to  Gethsemar.e,  the  High  Priest's 
palace,  to  Pilate's  judgment-hall,  and  fiom  thence 


FRIEND  A  ND  SA  V10  UR.  359 

to  Golgotha,  and  it  seemed  to  her  one  long  "  Via 
Dolorosa."  With  white  lips  she  murmured,  with  the 
centurion,  "  Truly  this  man  was  the  Son  of  God." 

She  was  reading  the  wonderful  story  for  the  first 
time  in  its  true  connection,  and  the  Spirit  of  God 
was  her  guide  and  teacher.  When  she  came  tc 
Mary  "  weeping  without  at  the  sepulchre,"  her  own 
eyes  were  streaming,  and  it  seemed  as  if  she  were 
weeping  there  herself. 

But  when  Jesus  said,  in  a  tone  perhaps  never 
heard  before  or  since  in  this  world,  "  Mary,"  it 
seemed  that  to  herself  He  was  speaking,  and  her 
heart  responded,  "  Rabboni — Master." 

She  started  up  and  paced  the  little  room,  thrilling 
with  excitement. 

"  How  blind  I  have  been,"  she  exclaimed — "how 
utterly  blind !  Here  I  have  been  struggling  alone 
all  these  weary  weeks,  with  scarcely  hope  for  this 
•world  and  none  for  the  next,  when  I  might  have 
had  such  a  friend  and  helper  all  the  time.  Can  I  be 
deceived  ?  Can  this  sweet  way  of  light  out  of  our 
thick  darkness  be  a  delusion  ?  " 

She  went  to  where  her  little  Bible  lay  open  at  the 
passage,  "  Come  unto  me,"  and  bowing  her  head 
upon  it,  pleaded  as  simply  and  sincerely  as  the  Syro- 
Phoenician  mother  might  have  pleaded  for  her  child 
in  the  very  presence  of  the  human  Saviour, 

"  O  Jesus,  I  am  heavily  laden.  I  labor  under 
burdens  greater  than  I  can  bear.  Divine  Saviour, 
help  me." 

In  answer  she  expected  some  vague  exaltation  of 


360  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DO* 

soul,  or  an  exquisite  sense  of  peace,  as  the  burden 
was  rolled  away. 

There  was  nothing  of  the  kind,  but  only  an  im- 
pulse to  go  to  Laura.  She  was  deeply  disappointed. 
She  seemed  to  have  climbed  such  a  lofty  height 
that  she  might  almost  look  into  heaven,  and  con- 
firm her  faith  forever,  and  only  a  simple  earthly 
duty  was  revealed  to  her.  Her  excited  mind,  that 
had  been  expanding  with  the  divinest  mysteries, 
was  reacting  into  quietness,  and  the  impression  was 
so  strong  that  she  must  go  to  Laura,  that  she  thought 
her  sister  had  been  calling  her,  and  she,  in  her  in- 
tense preoccupation,  had  heard  her  as  in  a  dream. 

Still  keeping  the  little  Bible  in  her  hand,  she  went 
to  Laura's  room.  Through  the  partially  open  door 
she  saw,  with  a  sudden  chill  of  fear,  that  the  bed 
had  not  been  slept  in.  Pushing  the  door  open,  she 
looked  eagerly  around  with  a  strange  dread  growing 
upon  her.  Laura  was  writing  at  a  table  with  her 
back  towards  the  entrance.  There  was  a  strong 
odor  of  laudanum  in  the  room,  and  a  horrible  thought 
blanched  Edith's  cheek.  Stealing  with  noiseless 
tread  across  the  intervening  space,  with  hand  pressed 
upon  her  heart  to  still  its  wild  throbbings,  she  looked 
over  her  sister's  shoulder,  and  followed  the  tracings 
of  her  pen  with  dilating  eyes. 

*'  Mother,  Edith,  farewell !  When  you  read  these 
sad  words  I  shall  be  dead.  I  fear  death — I  cannot 
tell  you  how  I  fear  it,  but  I  fear  that  dreadful  gulf 
which  daily  grows  nearer  more,  I  must  die.  There 
is  no  other  resource  for  a  poor,  weak  woman  liko 


FRIEND  AND  LAVIOUR.  361 

me.  If  I  were  only  strong — if  I  had  only  been 
taught  something — but  I  am  helpless.  Do  not  be 
too  hard  upon  poor  little  Zell.  Her  eyes  were, 
blinded  by  a  false  love ;  she  did  not  see  the  black 
gulf  as  I  see  it.  If  God  cares  for  what  such  poor 
forlorn  creatures  as  I  do,  may  He  forgive.  I  have 
thought  till  my  brain  reels.  I  have  tried  to  pray, 
but  hardly  knew  what  I  was  praying  to.  I  don't 
understand  God — He  is  far  off.  The  world  scorns 
us.  There  is  none  to  help.  There  is  no  other 
remedy  save  the  drug  at  my  side,  which  will  soon 
bring  sleep  which  I  hope  will  be  dreamless.  Fare- 
well ! 

"  Your  poor,  trembling,  despairing 

"  LAURA/" 

Every  sentence  was  written  with  a  sigh  that 
might  seem  the  last  that  the  burdened  soul  could  give, 
and  every  line  was  blotted  with  tears  that  fell  from 
her  dim  eyes.  Edith  saw  that  the  poor,  thin  face 
was  pinched  and  wan  with  misery,  and  that  the  pal- 
lor of  death  had  already  blanched  even  her  lips, 
and,  with  a  shudder  of  horror,  her  eyes  fell  on  a 
phial  of  laudanum  at  Laura's  left  hand,  and  from 
which  she  was  partially  turned  away,  in  the  act  of 
writing. 

With  an  ecstatic  thrill  of  joy,  she  now  understood 
how  her  prayer  had  been  answered.  How  could 
there  have  been  rest — how  could  there  have  been 
peace — if  this  awful  tragedy  had  been  consum- 
mated ? 

With  one  devout,  grateful  glance  upward,  she 
16 


362  WHAT  CAM  SHE  DO? 

silently  took  away  the  fatal  drug,  and  laid  her  Bibie 
down  in  its  place. 

Laura  finished  her  letter,  leaned  back,  and  mur- 
mured a  long,  trembling,  "  Farewell !  "  that  was  like 
a  low,  mournful  vibration  of  an  ^olian  harp,  when 
the  night-breeze  breathes  upon  it.  Then  she 
pressed  her  right  hand  over  her  eyes,  shuddered, 
and  tremblingly  put  out  her  left  for  that  which 
would  end  all.  But,  instead  of  the  phial  which  she 
had  placed  there  but  a  little  before,  her  hand  rested 
upon  a  book.  Startled,  she  opened  her  eyes,  and  saw 
not  the  dreaded  poison,  but  in  golden  letters  that 
seemed  luminous  to  her  dazzled  sight : 

HOLY  BIBLE. 

Though  all  had  lasted  but  a  brief  moment, 
Edith's  power  of  self-control  was  gone.  Dashing 
the  bottle  on  the  floor,  where  it  broke  into  many 
fragments,  she  threw  herself  on  her  sister's  neck  and 
sobbed  : 

"  Oh,  Laura,  Laura !  your  hand  is  on  a  better 
remedy.  It  has  saved  me — it  can  save  you.  It  has 
shown  me  the  Friend  we  need.  He  sent  me  to 
you ; "  and  she  clung  to  her  sister  in  a  rapture  of 
joy,  murmuring,  with  every  breath, 

"  Thanks,  thanks,  eternal  gratitude  !  I  see  how 
my  prayer  is  answered  now." 

Laura,  in  her  shattered  condition,  was  too  bewil- 
dered and  feeble  to  do  more  than  iling  to  Edith, 
with  a  blessed  sense  of  being  rescaed  from  some 
great  peril.  A  horrid  spell  seemed  broken,  and  for 
some  reason,  she  knew  not  why,  life  and  hope  wcrt 


FRIEND  AND  SA  VIOUR,  363 

still  possible.  A  torrent  of  tears  seemed  to  relieve 
her  of  the  dreadful  oppression  that  had  so  long 
rested  on  her,  and  at  last  she  faltered : 

"  Who  is  this  strange  friend  ?  " 

"  His  name  is  Jesus — Saviour,"  said  Edith,  in  a 
low,  reverential  tone. 

"  I  don't  quite  understand,"  said  Laura,  hesi- 
tatingly. "  I  can  only  cling  to  you  till  I  know 
him." 

"  He  knows  you,  Laura,  and  loves  you.  He  has 
never  forgotten  us.  It  was  we  who  forgot  Him.  He 
sent  me  to  you,  just  in  time.  Now  put  your  hand 
on  this  book,  and  promise  me  you  will  never  think 
of  such  an  awful  thing  again." 

"  I  promise,"  said  Laura,  solemnly ;  "  not  if  I  am 
in  my  right  mind.  I  don't  understand  myself.  You 
seem  to  have  awakened  me  from  a  fearful  dream.  I 
will  do  just  what  you  tell  me  to." 

"  O  Laura,  let  us  both  try  to  do  just  what  our 
Divine  Friend  tells  us  to  do." 

"  Perhaps,  through  you,  I  will  learn  to  know  Him. 
I  can  only  cling  to  you  to-night,"  said  Laura, 
wearily.  "  I  am  so  tired,"  and  her  eyes  drooped  as 
she  spoke. 

With  a  sense  of  security  came  a  strong  reaction  in 
her  overtaxed  nature.  Edith  helped  her  to  bed  as 
if  she  were  a  child,  and  soon  she  was  sleeping  as 
peacefully  as  one. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

THE  MYSTERY  SOLVED. 

EDITH  again  resumed  her  watching  in  her 
mother's  room.  The  invalid  was  still  dwell* 
ing  on  the  past,  and  her  delirium  appeared  to  Edith 
a  true  emblem  of  her  old,  unreal  life.  Indeed,  it 
seemed  to  her  that  she  had  never  lived  before.  A 
quiet,  but  divine  exaltation,  filled  her  soul.  She 
did  not  care  to  read  any  more,  but  just  sat  still  and 
thought,  and  her  spiritual  light  grew  clearer  and 
clearer. 

Her  faith  was  very  simple,  her  knowledge  very 
slight.  She  was  scarcely  in  advance  of  a  Hebrew 
maiden  who  might  have  been  one  of  the  mournful 
procession  passing  out  of  the  gates  of  Nain,  when  a 
stranger,  unknown  before,  revealed  himself  by  turn- 
ing death  into  life,  sorrow  into  joy.  The  eye  of  her 
faith  was  fastened  on  the  distinct,  living,  loving  per- 
sonality of  our  human  yet  Divine  Friend,  who  no 
longer  seemed  afar  off,  but  as  near  as  to  that  other 
burdened  one  "  who  touched  the  hem  of  his  gar- 
ment." 

"  He  does  not  change,  the  Bible  says,"  she 
thought.  "  He  cannot  change.  Therefore  He  will 
help  me,  just  as  surely  as  ne  did  the  poor,  suffering 
people  among  whom  he  lived." 


THE  M  YSTER  Y  SOL  VED.  365 

It  was  but  three  o'clock,  and  yet  the  eastern  sky 
was  pale  with  dawn.  At  length  her  attention  was 
gained  by  a  faint  but  oft-repeated  sound.  It  seemed 
to  come  from  the  direction  of  the  garden,  and  at 
once  the  mystery  that  so  oppressed  poor  Hannibal 
occurred  to  her.  She  rose,  and  passed  back  to  her 
own  room,  which  overlooked  the  garden,  and, 
through  the  lattice,  in  the  faint  morning  twilight, 
saw  a  tall,  dusky  figure,  that  looked  much  too  sub- 
stantial to  be  any  such  shadowy  being  as  the  old 
negro  surmised,  and  the  strokes  of  his  hoe  were  too 
vigorous  and  noisy  for  ghostly  gardening. 

"  It  must  be  Arden  Lacey,"  thought  Edith,  "  but 
I  will  put  this  matter  beyond  all  doubt.  I  don't 
like  this  night  work,  either ;  though  for  different 
reasons  than  those  of  poor  Hannibal.  We  have  suf- 
fered enough  from  scandal  already,  and,  henceforth, 
all  connected  with  my  life  shall  be  as  open  as  the 
day.  Then,  if  the  world  believes  evil  of  me,  it  will 
be  because  it  likes  it  best." 

These  thoughts  passed  through  her  mind  while 
she  hastily  threw  off  her  wrapper  and  dressed 
Cautiously  opening  the  back-door,  she  looked  again. 
The  nearer  view  and  clearer  light  revealed  to  her 
Arden  Lacey.  She  did  not  fear  him,  and  at  once 
determined  to  question  him  as  to  the  motive  of  his 
action.  He  was  but  a  little  way  off,  and  was  tying 
up  a  grape-vine  that  had  been  neglected,  his  back 
being  toward  her.  Edith  had  great  physical  courage 
and  firmness  naturally,  and  it  seemed  that  on  this 
morning  she  could  fear  nothing,  in  the  strength  of 
her  new-born  enthusiasm. 


366  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DO  t 

With  noiseless  step  she  reached  his  side,  and 
asked,  almost  sternly, 

"  Who  are  you,  sir ;  and  what  does  this  action 
mean  ?  " 

Arden  started  violently,  trembled  like  the  leaves 
in  the  morning  wind,  and  turned  slowly  toward  her, 
feeling  more  guilty  and  alarmed  than  if  he  had  been 
playing  the  part  of  a  burglar,  than  her  good  genius. 

"Why  don't  you  answer?"  she  asked,  in  still 
more  decided  tones.  "  By  what  right  are  you  doing 
this  work  ?  " 

Edith  had  lost  faith  in  men.  She  knew  little  of 
Arden,  and  the  thought  flashed  through  her  mind, 
'  This  may  be  some  new  plot  against  us."  There- 
fore her  manner  was  stern  and  almost  threatening. 

Poor  Arden  was  startled  out  of  all  self-control. 
Edith's  coming  was  so  sudden  and  unexpected,  and 
her  pale  face  was  so  spirit-like,  that  for  a  moment 
he  scarcely  knew  whether  the  constant  object  of 
his  thoughts  was  really  before  him,  or  whether  his 
strong  imagination  was  only  mocking  him. 

Edith  mistook  his  agitation  and  hesitancy  as  evi- 
dences of  guilt,  and  he  so  far  recovered  himself  as 
to  recognize  her  suspicions. 

"  I  will  be  answered.  You  shall  speak  the  truth," 
she  said,  imperiously.  "  By  what  right  are  you 
doing  this  work  ?  " 

Then  his  own  proud,  passionate  spirit  flamed  up, 
and  looking  her  unblenchingly  in  the  face,  he  replied : 

"The  right  of  my  great  love  for  you.  Can  1  not 
&erve  my  idol?  " 


THE  MYSTERY  SOLVED.  367 

An  expression  of  deep  pain  and  repulsion  came 
out  upon  Edith's  face,  and  he  saw  it.  The  avowal 
of  his  love  was  so  abrupt — indeed  it  was  almost 
stern  ;  and,  coming  thus  from  quite  a  stranger,  who 
had  little  place  even  in  her  thoughts,  it  was  so  ex- 
ceedingly painful,  that  it  was  like  a  blow.  She  had 
been  dwelling  upon  the  serene  heights  of  a  Divine 
love,  and  the  most  delicate  declaration  of  a  human 
and  earthly  love  at  that  time  would  have  jarred 
rudely  upon  her  sensitive  spirit.  And  yet  she 
hardly  knew  how  to  answer  him,  for  she  saw  in  his 
open,  manly  face,  his  respectful  manner,  that  he 
meant  no  evil,  however  he  might  err  through  igno- 
rance or  feeling. 

He  seemed  to  wait  for  her  to  speak  again,  and 
his  face,  from  being  like  the  eastern  sky,  became 
very  pale.  From  recent  experience,  and  the  teach- 
ings of  the  Patient  One,  Edith's  heart  was  very 
tender  toward  anything  that  looked  like  suffering, 
and  though  she  deemed  Arden's  feeling  but  the 
infatuation  of  a  rude  and  ill-regulated  mind,  she 
could  not  be  harsh,  now  that  all  suspicion  of  evil  de- 
signs was  banished.  Therefore  she  said  quietly, 
and  almost  kindly, 

"  You  have  done  wrong,  Mr.  Lacey.  Remember 
I  have  no  father  or  brother  to  protect  me.  The 
world  is  too  ready  to  take  up  evil  reports,  and  your 
strange  action  might  be  misunderstood.  All  trans- 
actions with  me  must  be  like  the  sunlight." 

With  an  expression  of  almost  anguish,  Arden 
bowed  his  head  before  her,  and  groaned. 


368  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DOf 

"  Forgive  me  ;  I  did  not  think." 

"  I  am  sure  you  meant  no  harm,"  said  Edith,  witi 
real  kindness  now  in  her  tone.  "  You  would  not 
knowingly  make  the  way  harder  for  a  poor  girl  that 
has  too  much  already  to  struggle  against.  And 
now,  good-bye.  I  shall  trust  to  your  sense  of  honor, 
assured  that  you  will  treat  me  as  you  would  wish 
your  own  sister  dealt  with ; "  and  she  vanished, 
leaving  Arden  so  overwhelmed  with  contending 
emotions  that  he  could  scarcely  make  his  way  home. 

An  hour  later  Edith  heard  Hannibal's  step  down 
stairs,  and  she  at  once  joined  him.  The  old  man 
had  aged  in  a  night,  and  his  face  had  a  more  worn 
and  hopeless  look  than  had  yet  rested  upon  it.  He 
trembled  at  the  rustle  of  her  dress,  and  called, 

"  Miss  Edie,  am  dat  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  you  foolish  old  fellow.  I  have  seen  your 
spook,  and  ordered  it  not  to  come  here  again  unless 
I  send  you  for  it." 

"  Oh,  Miss  Edie  !  "  gasped  Hannibal. 

"  It's  Arden  Lacey." 

Hannibal  collapsed.  He  seemed  to  drop  out  of 
the  realm  of  the  supernatural  to  the  solid  ground  of 
fact  with  a  heavy  thump. 

He  sank  into  a  chair,  regarding  her  first  with  a 
blank,  vacant  face,  which  gradually  became  illu- 
mined with  a  knowing  grin.  In  a  low,  chuckling 
voice,  he  said, 

"  I  jes  declar  to  you  I'se  struck  all  of  a  heap.  I 
jes  done  see  whar  de  possum  is  dis  minute.  What 
an  ole  black  fool  I  was,  sure  'nurT.  I  tho't  he'se 


THE  M  YSTER  Y  SOL  VED.  369 

de  mos  'bligin  man  I  eber  seed  afore,"  and  he  told 
her  how  Arden  had  served  her  in  her  illness. 

She  was  divided  between  amusement  and  annoy- 
ance, the  latter  predominating.  Hannibal  con- 
cluded impressively: 

"  Miss  Edie,  it  must  be  lub.  Nothin  else  dan  dat 
which  so  limbered  up  my  ole  jints,  could  get  any 
livin  man  obe?  as  much  ground  as  he  hoed  dat 
night." 

"Hush,  Hannibal/'  said  Edith,  with  dignity; 
"  and  remember  that  this  is  a  secret  between  our- 
selves. Moreover,  I  wish  you  never  to  ask  Mr, 
Lacey  to  do  anything  for  us  if  it  can  possibly  be 
helped,  and  never  without  my  knowledge." 

"  You  know's  well,  Miss  Edie,  dat  you'se 
only  to  speak  and  it's  done,"  said  Hannibal,  depre- 
catingly. 

She  gave  him  such  a  gentle,  grateful  look  that  the 
old  man  was  almost  ready  to  get  down  on  his  knees 
before  her.  Putting  her  hand  on  his  shoulder,  she 
said, 

"  What  a  good,  faithful,  old  friend  you  are.  You 
don't  know  how  much  I  love  you,  Hannibal ;"  and 
she  returned  to  her  mother. 

Hannibal  rolled  up  his  eyes  and  clasped  his  hands, 
as  if  before  his  patron  saint,  saying,  under  his 
breath, 

"  De  idee  of  her  lubing  ole  black  Hannibal.  I 
could  die  dis  blessed  minute,"  which  was  his  way 
of  saying,  "  Nunc  dimittas" 

Laura  slept  quietly  till  late  in  the  afternoon,  and 


37Q  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DO? 

wakened  as  if  to  a  new  and  better  life.  Her  rnan« 
ncr  was  almost  childlike.  She  had  lost  all  confidence 
in  herself,  and  seemed  to  wish  to  be  controlled  by 
Edith  in  all  things,  as  a  little  child  might  be.  But 
she  was  very  feeble. 

As  the  morning  advanced  Edith  grew  exceed- 
ingly weary.  Reaction  from  her  strong  excitement 
seemed  to  bear  her  down  in  a  weakness  and  lethargy 
that  she  could  not  resist,  and  by  ten  o'clock  she  felt 
that  she  must  have  some  relief.  It  came  from  an 
unexpected  source,  for  Hannibal  appeared  with  a 
face  of  portentous  solemnity,  saying  that  Mrs.  Lacey 
was  down  stairs,  and  that  she  wished  to  know  if  she 
could  do  something  to  help. 

The  mother's  quick  eye  saw  that  something  had 
deeply  moved  and  was  troubling  her  son.  Indeed, 
for  some  time  past,  she  had  seen  that  into  his  un- 
real world  had  come  a  reality  that  was  a  source  both 
of  pain  and  pleasure,  of  fear  and  hope.  While  she 
followed  him  every  hour  of  the  day  with  an  unutter- 
able sympathy,  she  silently  left  him  to  open  his 
heart  to  her  in  his  own  time  and  manner.  But  her 
tender,  wistful  manner  told  Arden  that  he  was 
understood,  and  he  preferred  this  tacit  sympathy  to 
any  spoken  words.  But  this  morning  the  evidence 
of  his  mental  distress  was  so  apparent  that  she  went 
to  him,  placed  her  hands  upon  his  shoulders,  and  with 
her  grave,  earnest  eyes  looking  straight  into  his, 
asked : 

"  Arden,  what  can  I  do  for  you?  " 

"  Mother,"  he  said,  in  a  low  tone,  "  there  is  sick. 


THE  MYSTER  Y  SOL  VED.  37! 

ness  and  deep  trouble  at  our  neighbor's.  Will  you 
go  to  them  again  "*" 

"  Yes,  my  son,"  she  replied,  simply,  "  as  soon  as 
I  can  get  ready." 

So  she  arranged  matters  to  stay  if  needed,  and 
thus  in  Edith's  extremity  she  appeared.  In  view  of 
Arden's  words,  Edith  hardly  knew  how  to  receive 
her  or  what  to  do.  But  when  she  saw  the  plain, 
grave  woman  sitting  before  her  in  the  simple  dignity 
of  patient  sorrow,  her  course  seemed  clear.  She  in- 
stinctively felt  that  she  could  trust  this  offered 
friendliness,  and  that  she  needed  it. 

"  I  have  heard  that  your  mother  has  been  sick  as 
well  as  yourself,"  she  said  kindly  but  quietly.  "  You 
look  very  worn  and  weary,  Miss  Allen  ;  and  if  I,  as 
a  neighbor,  can  watch  in  your  place  for  awhile,  I 
think  you  can  trust  me  to  do  so." 

Tears  sprang  into  Edith's  eyes,  and  she  said,  with 
sudden  color  coming  into  her  pale  face,  "  You  take 
noble  revenge  for  the  treatment  you  have  received 
from  us,  and  I  gratefully  submit  to  it.  I  must  con- 
fess I  have  reached  the  limit  of  my  endurance ;  my 
sister  is  ill  also,  and  yet  mother  needs  constant 
attention." 

,  "  Then  I  am  very  glad  I  came,  and  I  have  left 
things  at  home  so  I  can  stay,"  and  she  laid  aside 
her  wraps  with  the  air  of  one  who  sees  a  duty 
plainly  and  intends  to  perform  it.  Edith  gave  her 
the  doctor's  instructions  a  little  incoherently  in  her 
utter  exhaustion,  but  the  experienced  matron  under, 
stood  all,  and  said, 


372  WHA T  CAN  SHE  DO? 

"  I  think  I  know  just  what  to  do.  Sleep  till  you 
are  well  rested." 

Edith  went  to  her  room,  and,  with  her  face  where 
the  sweet  June  air  could  breathe  directly  upon  it 
through  the  open  window,  sleep  came  with  a  wel- 
come and  refreshing  balm  that  she  had  never  known 
before.  Her  last  thought  was,  "  He  will  take  care 
of  me  and  mine." 

She  had  left  the  door  leading  into  the  sick-room 
open,  and  Mrs.  Lacey  stepped  in  once  and  looked 
at  her.  The  happy,  trustful  thought  with  which 
she  had  closed  her  eyes  left  a  faint  smile  upon  her 
face,  and  gave  it  a  sweet  spiritual  beauty. 

"  She  seems  very  different  from  what  I  supposed 
her,"  murmured  Mrs.  Lacey.  "  She  is  very  differ- 
ent from  what  people  are  imagining  her.  Perhaps 
Arden,  poor  boy,  is  nearer  right  than  all  of  us.  Oh, 
I  hope  she  is  good,  whether  he  ever  marries  her  or 
not,  for  this  love  will  be  the  saving  or  ruining  of 
him." 

When  Edith  awoke  it  was  dark,  and  she  started 
up  in  dismay,  for  she  meant  to  sleep  but  an  hour  or 
two.  Having  hastily  smoothed  her  hair,  she  went 
to  the  sick  room,  and  found  Laura  reclining  on  the 
sofa,  and  talking  in  the  most  friendly  manner  to 
Mrs.  Lacey.  Her  mother's  delirium  continued, 
though  it  was  more  quiet,  with  snatches  of  sleep 
intervening,  but  she  noticed  no  one  as  yet.  Mrs. 
Lacey  sat  calmly  in  her  chair,  her  sad,  patient  face 
making  the  very  ideal  of  a  watcher,  and  yet  in  spite 
of  her  plain  exterior  there  was  a  refinement,  an  ai/ 


THE  MYSTERY  SOLVED.  373 

of  self-respect,  that  would  impress  the  most  casual 
observer.  As  soon  as  Laura  saw  Edith  she  rose  as 
quickly  as  her  feebleness  permitted,  and  threw  her 
arms  around  her  sister,  and  there  was  an  embrace 
whose  warmth  and  meaning  none  but  themselves, 
and  the  pitying  eye  of  Him  who  saved,  could  under- 
stand. Then  Edith  turned  and  said,  earnestly, 

"  Truly,  Mrs.  Lacey,  I  did  not  intend  to  trespass 
on  your  kindness  in  this  manner.  I  hope  you  will 
forgive  me." 

"  Nature  knew  what  was  best  for  you,  Miss  Allen, 
and  you  have  not  incommoded  me  at  all.  I  made 
my  plans  to  stay  till  nine  o'clock,  and  then  Arderi 
will  come  for  me." 

"  Miss  Edie,"  said  Hannibal,  in  his  loud  whisper 
"  I'se  got  some  supper  for  you  down  here." 

Why  did  Edith  go  to  her  room  and  make  a  little 
better  toilet  before  going  down  ?  She  hardly  thought 
herself.  It  was  probably  a  feminine  instinct.  As 
she  took  her  last  sip  of  tea  there  was  a  timid 
knock  at  the  door.  "  I  will  see  him  a  moment," 
she  decided. 

Hannibal,  with  a  gravity  that  made  poor  Edith 
smile  in  her  thoughts,  admitted  Arden  Lacey.  He 
was  diffident  but  not  awkward,  and  the  color  deep- 
ened in  his  face,  then  left  it  very  pale,  as  he  saw 
Edith  was  present.  Her  pale  cheek  also  took  the 
faintest  tinge  of  pink,  but  she  rose  quietly,  and 
eaid, 

"  Please  be  seated,  Mr.  Lacey.  I  will  tell  your 
mother  you  are  here."  Then,  as  Hannibal  dis- 


374  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOt 

appeared,  she  added  earnestly,  <c  I  do  appreciate 
your  mother's  kindness,  and — yours  also.  At  the 
same  time,  too  deep  a  sense  of  obligation  is  painful ; 
you  must  not  do  so  much  for  us.  Please  do  not 
misunderstand  me." 

Arden  had  something  of  his  mother's  quiet 
dignity,  as  he  rose  and  held  out  to  Edith  a  letter, 
saying, 

"  Will  you  please  read  that — you  need  not  answer 
it — and  then  perhaps  you  will  understand  me 
better." 

Edith  hesitated,  and  was  reluctant. 

"  I  may  be  doing  wrong,"  continued  he,  earnestly 
and  with  rising  color.  "  I  am  not  versed  in  the 
world's  ways ;  but  is  it  not  my  right  to  explain  the 
rash  words  I  uttered  this  morning?  My  good  name 
is  dear  to  me  also.  Few  care  for  it,  but  I  would 
not  have  it  utterly  blurred  in  your  eyes.  We  may 
be  strangers  after  you  have  read  it,  if  you  choose, 
but  I  entreat  you  to  read  it." 

"  You  will  not  feel  hurt  if  I  afterwards  return  it 
to  you?"  asked  Edith,  timidly. 

"  You  may  do  with  it  what  you  please." 

She  then  took  the  letter,  and  a  moment  later  Mrs. 
Lacey  appeared,  and  said, 

"  I  will  sit  up  to-morrow  night,  with  your  per- 
mission." 

Edith  took  her  hand,  and  replied,  "  Mrs.  Lacey, 
you  burden  me  with  kindness." 

"  It  is  not  my  wish  to  burden,  but  to  relieve  you, 
Miss  Allen.  I  think  I  can  safely  say,  from  our 


THE  M  YS  TER  Y  SOL  I' ED.  37$ 

slight  acquaintance,  that  in  the  case  of  sickness  of 
trouble  at  a  neighbor's,  you  would  not  spare  your- 
self.  We  cease  to  be  human  when  we  leave  the  too- 
heavily  burdened  to  struggle  alone." 

Edith's  eyes  grew  moist,  and  she  said,  simply,  "  I 
cannot  refuse  kindness  offered  in  that  spirit,  and 
may  God  bless  you  for  it.  Good  night." 

Arden's  only  parting  was  a  grave,  silent  bow, 

Edith  was  soon  alone  again,  watching  by  her 
mother.  With  some  natural  curiosity,  she  opened 
the  letter  that  was  written  by  one  so  different  from 
any  man  that  she  had  ever  known  before.  Its 
opening,  at  least,  was  reassuring. 

"  Miss  EDITH  ALLEN:  You  need  not  fear  that  I 
shall  offend  again  by  either  writing  or  speaking 
such  rash  words  as  those  which  so  deeply  pained 
you  this  morning.  They  would  not  have  been 
spoken  then,  perhaps  never,  had  I  not  been  startled 
out  of  my  self-control — had  I  not  seen  that  you 
suspected  me  of  evil.  I  was  very  unwise,  and  I  sin- 
cerely ask  your  pardon.  But  I  meant  no  wrong, 
and  as  you  referred  to  my  sister,  I  can  say,  before 
God,  that  I  would  shield  you  as  I  would  shield 
her. 

4  I  know  little  of  the  conventionalities  of  the 
world.  I  live  but  a  hermit's  life  in  it,  and  my  letter 
may  seem  to  you  very  foolish  and  romantic,  still  I 
know  that  my  motives  are  not  ignoble,  and  with 
this  consciousness  I  venture. 

"  Reverencing  and  honoring  you  as  I  do,  I  cannot 
bear  that  you  should  think  too  meanly  of  me.  The 


376  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DO? 

world  regards  me  as  a  sullen,  stolid,  bearish  creature, 
but  I  have  almost  ceased  to  care  for  its  opinion.  I 
have  received  from  it  nothing  but  coldness  and 
scorn,  and  I  pay  my  debt  in  like  coin.  But  perhaps 
you  can  imagine  why  I  cannot  endure  that  you 
should  regard  me  in  like  manner.  I  would  not  have 
you  think  my  nature  a  stony,  sterile  place,  when 
something  tells  me  that  it  is  like  a  garden  that 
needs  only  sunlight  of  some  kind.  My  life  has  been 
blighted  by  the  wrong  of  another,  who  should  have 
been  my  best  helper.  The  knowledge  and  university 
culture  for  which  I  thirsted  was  denied  me.  And 
yet,  believe  me,  only  my  mother's  need — only  the 
absolute  necessity  that  she  and  my  sister  should 
have  a  daily  protector,  kept  me  from  pushing  out 
into  the  world,  and  trying  to  work  my  way  unaided 
to  better  things.  Sacred  duty  has  chained  me  down 
to  a  life  that  was  outwardly  most  sordid  and  un- 
happy. My  best  solace  has  been  my  mother's  love. 
But  from  varied,  somewhat  extensive,  though  per- 
haps not  the  wisest  kind  of  reading,  I  came  to  dwell 
in  a  brave,  beautiful,  but  shadowy  world,  that  I 
created  out  of  books.  I  was  becoming  satisfied  with 
it,  not  knowing  any  other.  The  real  world  mocked 
and  hurt  me  on  every  side.  It  is  so  harsh  and  un- 
just that  I  hate  it.  I  hate  it  infinitely  more  as  I  see 
its  disposition  to  wound  you,  who  have  been  so 
noble  and  heroic.  In  this  dream  of  the  past — in 
this  unreal  world  of  my  own  fancy,  I  was  living 
when  you  came  that  rainy  night.  As  I  learned  to 
know  you  somewhat,  you  seemed  a  beautiful  reve- 


THE  MYSTERY  SOLVED.  377 

lation  to  me.  I  did  not  think  there  was  such  a 
woman  in  existence.  My  shadows  vanished  before 
you.  With  you  living  in  the  present,  my  dreams  of 
the  past  ceased.  I  could  not  prevent  your  image 
from  entering  my  lonely,  empty  heart,  and  taking 
its  vacant  throne,  as  if  by  divine  right.  How  could 
I  ?  How  can  I  drive  you  forth  now,  when  my  whole 
being  is  enslaved? 

"  But  forgive  me.  Though  thought  and  feeling 
are  beyond  control,  outward  action  is  not.  I  hope 
never  to  lose  a  mastering  grasp  on  the  rein  of  deeds 
and  words;  and  though  I  cannot  understand  how 
the  feeling  I  have  frankly  avowed  can  ever  change, 
I  will  try  never,  by  look  or  sign,  to  pain  you  with  it 
again. 

"  And  yet,  with  a  diffidence  and  fear  equaled 
only  by  my  sincerity  and  earnestness,  I  would  ven- 
ture to  ask  one  great  favor.  You  said  this  morning 
that  you  already  had  too  much  to  struggle  against. 
The  future  has  its  possibilities  of  further  trouble 
and  danger.  Will  you  not  let  me  be  your  humble, 
faithful  friend,  serving  you  loyally,  devotedly,  yet 
unobtrusively,  and  with  all  the  delicate  regard  for 
your  position  which  I  am  capable  of  showing,  as- 
sured that  I  will  gratefully  accept  any  hints  when  I 
am  wrong  or  presumptuous?  I  would  gladly  serve 
you  with  your  knowledge  and  consent.  But  serve 
you  I  must.  I  vowed  it  the  night  I  lifted  your  un- 
conscious form  from  the  wharf,  and  gave  you  into 
Mrs.  Groody's  care.  There  need  be  no  reply.  You 
have  only  to  treat  me  not  as  an  utter  stranger  when 


3J8  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOt 

we  next  meet.     You  have  only  to  give  me  ch«-  Joy 
of  doing  something  for  you  when  opportunity  oficrs. 

"ARDENLACEY." 

Edith's  eyes  filled  with  tears  before  she  finished 
this  most  unexpected  epistle.  Though  rather 
quaint  and  stately  in  its  diction,  the  passion  of  a 
true,  strong  nature  so  permeated  it  all,  that  the 
coldest  and  shallowest  would  have  been  moved. 
And  yet  a  half-smile  played  upon  her  face  at  the 
same  time,  like  sunlight  on  drops  of  rain. 

"  Thank  heaven,"  she  said,  "  I  know  of  one  more 
true  man  in  the  world,  if  he  is  a  strange  one.  How 
different  he  is  from  what  I  thought!  I  don't 
believe  there's  another  in  this  place  who  could 
have  written  such  a  letter.  What  would  a  New 
York  society  man,  whose  compliments  are  as  ex- 
travagant as  meaningless,  think  of  it  ?  Truly  he 
don't  know  the  world,  and  isn't  like  it.  I  sup- 
posed him  an  awkward,  eccentric  young  country, 
man,  that,  from  his  very  verdancy,  would  be  difficult 
to  manage,  and  he  writes  to  me  like  a  knight  of  old- 
en time,  only  such  language  seems  Quixotic  in  our 
day.  The  foolish  fellow,  to  idealize  poor,  despised, 
faulty  Edith  Allen  into  one  of  the  grand  heroines 
of  his  interminable  romances,  and  that  after  seeing 
me  hoe  my  garden  like  a  Dutch  woman.  If  I 
wasn't  so  sad  and  he  so  earnest,  I  could  laugh  till 
my  sides  ached.  There  never  was  a  more  matter- 
of-fact  creature  than  I  am,  and  yet  here  am  I  envel- 
oped in  a  halo  of  impossible  virtues  and  graces.  If 


THE  MYSTERY  SOLVED.  379 

I  were  what  he  thinks  me,  I  wouldn't  know  myself. 
Well,  well,  I  must  treat  him  somewhat  like  a  boy, 
for  such  he  really  is,  ignorant  of  himself  and  all  the 
tvorld.  When  he  comes  to  know  me  better,  the 
Edith  of  his  imagination  will  vanish  like  his  other 
shadows,  and  he  will  have  another  revelation  that  I 
am  an  ordinary,  flesh-and-blood  girl." 

With  deepening  color  she  continued  :  "  So  it  was 
he  who  lifted  me  up  that  night.  Well,  I  am  glad 
it  was  one  who  pitied  me,  and  not  some  coarse, 
unfeeling  man.  It  seems  strange  how  circum- 
stances have  brought  him  who  shuns  and  is 
shunned  by  all,  into  such  a  queer  relationship  tome. 
But  heaven  forbid  that  I  should  give  him  lessons  as 
to  the  selfish,  matter-of-fact  world.  He  will  out- 
grow his  morbidness  and  romantic  chivalry  with  the 
certainty  of  years,  and  seeing  more  of  me  will  ban- 
ish his  absurd  delusions  in  regard  to  me.  I  need  his 
friendship  and  help — indeed  it  seems  as  if  it  were 
sent  to  me.  It  can  do  him  no  harm,  and  it  may 
give  me  a  chance  to  do  him  good.  If  any  man  ever 
needed  a  sensible  friend,  he  does." 

Therefore  Edith  wrote  him  : 

"  It  is  very  kind  of  you  to  offer  friendship  and 
help  to  one  situated  like  myself,  and  I  gratefully 
grant  what  you  rather  oddly  call  '  a  favor.'  At  the 
same  time,  if  you  ever  find  such  friendliness  a  pain 
or  trouble  to  you  in  any  way,  I  shall  in  no  sense 
blame  you  for  withdrawing  it." 

The  "friendship  "  and  '  friendliness  "  were  under- 


380  WffA  T  CAN  SHE  DO  f 

scored,  thus  delicately  hinting  that  this  must  be  the 
only  relation. 

"  There,"  she  said,  "  all  his  chains  will  now  be  of 
his  own  forging,  and  I  shall  soon  demolish  the  para- 
gon he  is  dreaming  over."  ; 

She  laid  both  letters  aside,  and  took  down  hef 
Bible  with  a  little  sigh  of  satisfaction. 

"  His  lonely,  empty  heart,"  she  murmured  ;  "  ah, 
that  is  the  trouble  with  all.  He  thinks  to  fill  his 
with  a  vain  dream  of  me,  as  others  do  with  as  vain  a 
dream  of  something  else.  I  trust  I  have  learned  of 
One  here  who  can  fill  and  satisfy  mine  ; "  and  soon 
she  was  again  deep  in  the  wondrous  story,  so  old, 
so  new,  so  all-absorbing  to  those  from  whose  spirit- 
ual eyes  the  scales  of  doubt  and  indifference  have 
fallen.  As  she  read  she  saw,  not  truths  about 
Jesus,  but  Him,  and  at  His  feet  her  heart  bowed  in 
stronger  faith  and  deeper  love  every  moment.  ; 

She  had  not  even  thought  whether  she  was  a 
Christian  or  not.  She  had  not  even  once  put  her 
finger  on  her  spiritual  pulse,  to  guage  the  evidences 
of  her  faith.  A  system  of  theology  would  have 
been  unintelligible  to  her.  She  could  not  have  de- 
fined one  doctrine  so  as  to  have  satisfied  a  sound 
divine.  She  had  not  even  read  the  greater  part  of 
the  Bible,  but,  in  her  bitter  extremity,  the  Spirit  of 
God,  employing  the  inspired  guide,  had  brought 
her  to  Jesus,  as  the  troubled  and  sinful  were 
brought  to  Him  of  old.  He  had  given  her  rest.  He 
had  helped  her  save  her  sister,  and  with  childlike 
confidence  she  was  just  looking,  lovingly  and  trust- 


THE  M YSTER  Y  SOL  VED.  38 1 

Ingly,  into  His  divine  face,  and  He  was  smiling  away 
all  her  fear  and  pain.  She  seemed  to  feel  sure  that 
her  mother  would  get  well,  that  Laura  would  grow 
stronger,  that  they  would  all  learn  to  know  Him, 
and  would  be  taken  care  of. 

As  she  read  this  evening  she  came  to  that  passage 
of  exquisite  pathos,  where  the  purest,  holiest,  man- 
hood said  to  "  a  woman  of  the  city,  which  was  a 
sinner," 

"  Thy  sins  are  forgiven.     Go  in  peace." 

Instantly  her  thoughts  reverted  to  Zell,  and  she 
was  deeply  moved.  Could  she  be  forgiven  ?  Could 
she  be  saved  ?  Was  the  God  of  the  Bible,  stern, 
afar  off,  as  she  had  once  imagined,  more  tender  to- 
ward the  erring  than  even  their  own  human  kindred  ? 
Could  it  be  possible  that,  while  she  had  been  con- 
demning, and  almost  hating  Zell,  Jesus  had  been 
loving  her  ? 

The  feeling  overpowered  her.  Closing  the  book, 
she  leaned  her  head  upon  it,  and,  for  the  first  time, 
sobbed  and  mourned  for  Zell,  with  a  great,  yearning 
pity. 

Every  such  pitiful  tear,  the  world  over,  is  a  prayer 
to  God.  They  mingle  with  those  that  flowed  from 
His  eyes,  as  He  wept  over  the  doomed  city  that 
would  not  receive  Him.  They  mingle  with  that 
crimson  tide  which  flowed  from  His  hands  and  feet 
when  He  prayed, 

*'  Father,  forgive  them,  they  know  not  what  they 


CHAPTER   XXVIII. 

EDITH   TELJ.S  THE  OLD,   OLD  STORY. 

MRS.  Allen  seemed  better  the  next  day,  and 
Laura  was  able  to  watch  while  Edith  slept. 
After  tea  Mrs.  Lacey  appeared,  with  the  same 
subdued  air  of  quiet  self-respect  and  patient  sorrow. 
She  seemed  to  have  settled  down  into  that  mourn- 
ful calm  which  hopes  little  and  fears  little.  She 
seemed  to  expect  nothing  better  than  to  go  forward 
with  such  endurance  as  she  might,  into  the  deeper 
shadows  of  age,  sickness,  and  death.  She  vaguely 
hoped  that  God  would  have  mercy  upon  her  at  last, 
but  how  to  love  and  trust  Him  she  did  not  know. 
She  hardly  knew  that  it  was  expected,  or  possible. 
She  associated  religion  with  going  to  church,  out- 
ward profession,  and  doing  much  good.  The  neigh- 
bors spoke  of  her  and  the  family  as  "  very  irrelig- 
ious," and  she  had  about  come  to  the  conclusion 
that  they  were  right.  She  never  thought  of  taking 
credit  to  herself  for  her  devotion  to  her  children,  and 
patience  with  her  husband.  She  loved  the  former, 
especially  her  son,  with  an  intensity  that  one  could 
hardly  reconcile  with  her  grave  and  silent  ways.  In 
regard  to  her  husband,  she  tried  to  remember  her 
first  young  girlish  dream — the  manly  ideal  of  char- 
acter that  her  fond  heart  had  associated  with  the 


EDITH  TELLS  THE  OLD,  OLD  STORY.         383 

handsome  young  fellow  who  had  singled  her  out 
among  the  many  envious  maidens  in  her  native 
village. 

"  I  will  try  to  be  true  to  what  I  thought  he  was," 
she  said,  with  woman's  pathetic  constancy,  "  and  be 
patient  with  what  he  is." 

But  the  disappointment,  as  it  slowly  assumed 
dread  certainty,  broke  her  heart. 

Edith  began  to  have  a  fellow-feeling  for  her. 
"  We  both  have  not  only  our  own  burdens  to  carry, 
but  the  heavier  burden  of  another,"  she  thought. 
"  I  wonder  if  she  has  ever  gone  to  Him  for  the  '  rest.' 
I  fear  not,  or  she  would  not  look  so  sad  and  hope- 
less." 

Before  they  could  go  upstairs  a  hack  from  the 
hotel  stopped  at  the  door,  and  Mrs.  Groody  bustled 
cheerily  in.  Laura  at  the  same  time  came  down, 
saying  that  Mrs.  Allen  was  asleep. 

"  Hannibal,"  said  Edith,  "  you  may  sit  on  the 
stairs,  and  if  she  wakes,  or  makes  any  sound,  let  me 
know,"  and  she  took  a  seat  near  the  door  in  order 
to  hear. 

"  I've  been  worrying  about  you  every  minute 
ever  since  I  called,  and  you  was  too  sick  to  see  me," 
said  Mrs.  Groody,  "  but  I've  been  so  busy  I  couldn't 
get  away.  It  takes  an  awful  lot  of  work  to  get  such 
a  big  house  to  rights,  and  the  women  cleaning,  and 
the  servants  are  so  aggravatin,  that  I  am  just  run  ofl 
my  legs  lookin  after  them.  I  don't  see  why  people 
can't  do  what  they're  told,  when  they're  told." 

"  I  wish  I  were  able  to  help  you,"  said  Edith. 


384  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOt 

"  Youi  promise  of  work  has  kept  me  up  wondefr 
fully.  But  before  I  half  got  my  strength  back 
mother  became  very  ill,  and,  had  it  not  been  for 
Mrs.  Lacey,  I  don't  know  what  I  would  have  done. 
It  did  seem  as  if  she  were  sent  here  yesterday,  for  I 
could  not  have  kept  up  another  hour." 

"  You  poor  child,"  said  Mrs.  Groody,  in  a  tone 
and  manner  overflowing  with  motherly  kindness. 
"  I  just  heard  about  it  to-day  from  Arden,  who  was 
bringing  something  up  to  the  hotel,  so  I  said,  I'll 
drop  everything  to-night,  and  run  down  for  a  while. 
So  here  I  am,  and  now  what  can  I  do  for  you  ? " 
concluded  the  warm-hearted  woman,  whose  invari- 
able instinct  was  to  put  her  sympathy  into  deeds. 

"  I  told  you  that  night,"  said  Edith.  "  I  think  I 
could  do  a  little  sewing  or  mending  even  now  if  I 
had  it  here  at  home.  But  your  kindness  and 
remembrance  do  me  more  good  than  any  words 
of  mine  can  tell  you.  I  thought  no  one  would  ever 
speak  to  us  again,"  she  continued  in  a  low  tone,  and 
with  rising  color,  "  and  I  have  had  kind,  helpful 
friends  sent  to  me  already." 

Wistful  mother-love  shone  in  Mrs.  Lacey's  large 
blue  eyes,  but  Mrs.  Groody  blew  her  nose  like  a 
trumpet,  and  said ; 

"  Not  speak  to  you,  poor  child  !  Though  I  ain't 
on  very  good  terms  with  the  Lord,  I  ain't  a  Phari- 
see, and  after  what  I  saw  of  you  that  night,  I  am 
proud  to  speak  to  you  and  do  anything  I  can  for 
you.  It  does  seem  too  bad  that  poor  young  things 
like  you  two  should  be  sc  burdened.  I  should  think 


EDITH  TELLS  THE  OLD,  OLD  STORY.         385 

you  had  enough  before  without  your  mother  getting 
sick.  I  don't  understand  the  Lord,  no  how.  Seems 
to  me  He  might  scatter  His  afflictions  as  well  as  His 
favors  a  little  more  evenly.  I've  thought  a  good 
deal  about  what  you  said  that  night,  '  We're  dealt 
with  in  masses, '  and  poor  bodies  like  you  and  me, 
and  Mrs.  Lacey  there,  that  is,  '  the  human  atoms,' 
as  you  called  'em,  are  lost  sight  of." 

Tears  sprang  into  Edith's  eyes,  and  she  said,  ear- 
nestly, "I  am  sorry  I  ever  said  those  words.  They 
are  not  true.  I  should  grieve  very  much  if  my  rash, 
desperate  words  did  you  harm  after  all  your  kind- 
ness to  me.  I  have  learned  better  since  I  saw  you, 
Mrs.  Groody.  We  are  not  lost  sight  of.  It  seems 
to  me  the  trouble  is  we  lose  sight  of  Him." 

"  Well,  well,  child,  I'm  glad  to  hear  you  talk  in 
that  way,"  said  Mrs.  Groody,  despondently.  "  I'm 
dreadfully  discouraged  about  it  all.  I  know  I  fell 
from  grace,  though,  one  awfully  hot  summer,  when 
everything  went  wrong,  and  I  got  on  a  regular 
rampage,  and  that's  the  reason  perhaps.  A  she-bear 
that  had  lost  her  cubs,  wasn't  nothing  to  me.  But 
I  straightened  things  out  at  the  hotel,  though  I 
came  mighty  near  being  sick,  but  I  never  couid 
get  straight  myself  after  it.  I  knowed  I  ought 
to  be  more  patient — I  knowed  it  all  the  time.  But 
human  natur  is  human  natur,  and  woman  natur  is 
worse  yet  sometimes.  And  when  you've  got  on 
one  hand  a  score  or  two  of  drinking,  quarrelsome, 
thieving,  and  abominably  lazy  servants  to  manage, 
and  on  the  other  two  or  three  hundred  fastidious 
]7 


386  WHAT  CA.V  SHE  DO? 

people  to  please,  and  elegantly  dressed  ladies  who 
can't  manage  their  three  or  four  servants  at  home, 
dawdling  up  to  you  every  hour  in  the  day,  saying 
about  the  same  as,  Mrs.  Groody,  everything  ain't 
done  in  a  minute — everything  ain't  just  right.  I'd 
like  to  know  where  'tis  in  this  jumbled-up  world — 
not  where  they're  housekeepers,  1  warrant  you." 

"  Well,  as  I  was  tellin  you,"  continued  Mrs. 
Groody,  with  a  weary  sigh,  "  that  summer  was  too 
much  for  me.  I  got  to  be  a  very  dragon.  I  hadn't 
time  to  read  my  Bible,  or  pray,  or  go  to  church,  or 
scarcely  eat  or  sleep.  I  worked  Sundays  and  week- 
days alike,  and  I  got  to  be  a  sort  of  heathen,  and 
I've  been  one  ever  since,"  and  a  gloom  seemed  to 
gather  on  her  naturally  open,  cheery  face,  as  if  she 
feared  she  might  never  be  anything  else. 

Mrs.  Lacey  gave  a  deep,  responsive  sigh,  showing 
that  her  heavy  heart  was  akin  to  all  other  burdened 
souls.  But  direct,  practical  Edith  said  simply  and 
gently; 

"  In  other  words  you  were  laboring  and  heavy 
laden." 

"  Couldn't  have  been  more  so,  and  lived,"  was 
Mrs.  Groody's  emphatic  answer. 

"  And  the  memory  of  it  seems  to  have  been  a 
heavy  burden  on  your  conscience  ever  since,  though 
I  think  you  judge  yourself  harshly,"  continued 
Edith. 

"  Not  a  bit,"  said  Mrs  Groody  sturdily,  "  I 
knowed  better  all  the  time.' 

"  Well,  be  that  as  it  may,  I  feel  that  I  know  very 


EDITH  TELLS  THE  OLD,  OLD  STORY.         387 

little  about  these  things  yet.  I'm  sure  I  want  to  be 
guided  rightly.  But  what  did  our  Lord  mean  when 
He  said  '  Come  unto  Me  all  ye  that  labor  and  are 
heavy  laden  and  I  will  give  you  rest.'  " 

Mrs.  Groody  gave  Edith  a  sort  of  surprised  and 
startled  look.  After  a  moment  she  said,  "  Bless  you, 
child,  how  plain  you  do  put  it.  It's  a  very  plain 
text  when  you  think  of  it,  now,  ain't  it?  I  always 
tho't  it  meant  kind  o'  good,  as  all  the  Bible 
does."  . 

"  No,  but  He  said  them,"  urged  Edith,  earnestly. 
"  It  is  a  distinct,  plain  invitation,  and  it  must  have 
a  distinct,  plain  meaning.  I  have  learned  to  know 
that  when  you  or  Mrs.  Lacey  say  a  thing,  you  mean 
what  you  say,  and  so  it  is  with  all  who  are  sincere 
and  true.  Was  He  not  sincere  and  true?  If  so, 
these  plain  words  must  have  a  plain  meaning.  He 
surely  couldn't  have  meant  them  only  for  the  few 
people  who  heard  His  voice  at  that  time." 

"  Of  course  not,"  said  Mrs.  Groody,  musingly, 
while  poor  Mrs.  Lacey  leaned  fonvard  with  such  an 
eager,  hungry  look  in  her  poor,  worn  face,  that 
Edith's  heart  yearned  over  her.  Laura  came  and 
sat  on  the  floor  by  her  sister's  chair,  and  leaning 
her  elbow  on  Edith's  knee,  and  her  face  on  her 
hand,  looked  up  with  the  wistful,  trustful,  child-like 
expression  that  had  taken  the  place  of  her  former 
stateliness  and  subsequent  apathy.  Edith  lost  all 
thought  of  herself  in  her  eagerness  to  tell  the  others 
of  the  Friend  and  Helper  she 'had  come  to  know. 

"  He  must  be  God,  or  else  He  had  no  right  to  say 


388  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DO? 

to  a  great,  troubled,  sinning  world,  '  Come  unto  me. 
The  idea  of  a  million  people  going  at  once,  with 
their  sorrows  and  burdens,  to  one  mere  man,  or  an 
angel:  or  any  finite  creature  !  And  just  think  how 
many  millions  there  are  !  If  the  Bible  is  for  all,  this 
invitation  is  for  all.  He  couldn't  have  changed  since 
then,  could  He  ?  He  can't  be  different  in  heaven 
from  what  He  was  on  earth  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  Groody,  quickly,  "  for  the  Bible 
says  He  is  '  the  same  yesterday,  to-day,  and  for- 
ever.' " 

"  I  never  read  in  that  place,"  said  Edith,  simply. 
"  That  makes  it  clearer  and  stronger  than  ever. 
Please,  don't  think  I  am  setting  myself  up  as  a  re- 
ligious teacher.  I  know  very  little  yet  myself.  I  am 
only  seeking  the  light.  But,  one  thing  is  settled  in 
my  mind,  and  I  like  to  have  one  thing  settled  beforj 
I  go  on  to  anything  else.  This  one  thing  seems  the 
foundation  of  everything  else,  and  it  appears  as  if  I 
could  go  on  from  it  and  learn  all  the  rest.  I  am 
satisfied  that  this  Jesus  is  God,  and  that  He  said, 
'  Come  unto  me/  to  poor,  weak,  overburdened  Edith 
Allen.  I  went  to  Him,  just  as  people  in  trouble 
used  to,  when  He  first  spoke  these  words.  And, 
Oh,  how  He  has  helped  me,"  continued  Edith,  with 
tears  in  her  eyes,  but  with  the  glad  light  of  a  great 
hope  again  shining  through  them.  "  The  world  can 
never  know  all  that  He  has  done  for  us,  and  I  can  t 
even  think  of  Him  without  my  heart  quivering  witb 
gratitude." 

Laura  had  now  buried  her  face  in  her  sister's  lap, 


EDITH  TELLS  THE  OLD,  OLD  STORY.         389 

and  was  trembling  like  a  leaf.  Edith's  words  had  a 
meaning  to  her  that  they  could  not  have  for  the 
others. 

"  And  now,"  concluded  Edith, "  I  was  led  to  Him 
by  these  words,  '  Come  unto  me  all  ye  that  labor 
and  are  1  eavy  laden,  and  I  will  give  you  rest.'  I 
was  in  greater  darkness  than  I  had  ever  been  be- 
fore. My  heart  ached  as  if  it  would  burst.  Diffi- 
culty and  danger  seemed  on  every  side,  and  I  saw 
no  way  out.  I  knew  the  world  had  only  scorn  for 
us,  and  I  was  so  bowed  down  with  shame  and 
discouragement,  that  I  almost  lost  all  hope.  I  had 
been  to  the  village,  and  the  people  looked  and 
pointed  at  me,  till  I  was  ready  to  drop  in  the 
street.  But  I  went  to  Mr.  McTrump's,  and  he  and 
his  wife;  were  so  kind  to  me,  and  heartened  me 
up  a  li'.tle  ;  and  they  spoke  about  the '  Gude  Book,' 
as  they  call  it,  in  such  a  way  as  made  me  think  of  it 
in  my  deep  distress  and  fear,  as  I  sat  alone  watch- 
ing with  mother.  So  I  found  my  neglected  Bible, 
and,  in  some  way,  I  seemed  guided  to  these  words, 
'  Come  unto  me  ; '  and  then,  for  two  or  three  hours, 
I  continued  to  read  eagerly  about  Him,  till  at  last  I 
felt  that  I  could  venture  to  go  to  Him.  So,  I  just 
bowed  my  head,  on  His  own  invitation  ;  indeed,  it 
seemed  like  a  tender  call  to  a  child  that  had  been  lost 
in  the  dark,  and  was  afraid,  and  I  said,  '  I  am  heavy 
laden,  help  me.'  And  how  wonderfully  He  did  help 
me._  He  has  been  so  good,  so  near,  ever  since.  My 
weary,  hopeless  heartache  is  gone.  I  don't  know 
what  is  before  us.  I  can't  see  the  way  out  of  out 


390  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DO? 

troubles.  I  don't  know  what  has  become  of  ouf 
absent  one,"  she  said,  in  a  low  tone  and  with 
bowed  head,  "  but  I  can  leave  all  to  Him.  He 
is  God :  He  loves,  and  He  can,  and  will,  take  care 
of  us.  So  you  see  I  know  very  little  about  re- 
ligion yet ;  just  enough  to  trust  and  keep  close  to 
Him  ;  and  I  feel  sure  that  in  time  He  will  teach 
me,  through  the  Bible,  or  in  some  way,  all  I  ought 
to  know." 

"  Bless  the  child,  she's  right,  she's  right,"  sobbed 
Mrs.  Groody.  "  It  was  just  so  at  first.  He  came  right 
among  people,  and  called  all  sorts  to  Him,  and  they 
came  to  Him  just  as  they  was,  and  stayed  with  Him, 
and  He  cured,  and  helped,  and  taught  'em,  till,  from 
being  the  worst,  they  became  the  best.  That  is  the 
way  that  distressed,  swearin,  old  fisherman  Peter 
became  one  of  the  greatest  and  best  men  that  ever 
lived  :  though  it  took  a  mighty  lot  of  grace  and 
patience  to  bring  it  about.  Now  I  think  of  it,  I 
think  he  fell  from  grace  worse  than  I  did  that  awfully 
hot  summer.  What  an  old  fool  I  am.  I've  been 
reading  the  Bible  all  my  life,  and  never  understood 
it  before." 

"  I  think  that  if  you  had  gone  to  Him  that  time 
when  you  were  so  troubled  and  overburdened,  He 
would  have  helped  you,"  said  Edith,  gently. 

"  Yes,  but  there  it  is,  you  see,"  said  Mrs.  Groody, 
wiping  her  eyes  and  shaking  her  head  despond- 
ently, "  I  didn't  go." 

"  But  you  are  heavy  laden  now.  I  can  see  it. 
You  can  go  now,"  said  Edith,  earnestly. 


EDITH  TELLS  THE  OLD,  OLD  STORY.         39! 

"  I'm  afraid  I've  put  it  off  too  long,"  said  Mrs, 
Groody,  settling  back  into  something  of  her  old 
gloom.  "  I'm  afraid  I've  sinned  away  my  time." 

With  a  strange  blending  of  pathos  and  reproach 
in  her  tone,  Edith  answered, 

"Oh,  how  can  you,  with  your  big,  kind  heart,  that 
yearned  over  a  poor  unknown  girl  that  dreadful 
night  when  you  brought  me  home — how  can  you 
think  so  poorly  of  your  Saviour  ?  Ts  your  heart 
warmer — are  your  sympathies  larger  than  His? 
Why,  He  died  for  us,  and,  when  dying,  prayed  for 
those  who  crucified  Him.  Could  you  turn  away  a 
poor,  sorrowing,  burdened  creature  that  came  plead- 
ing to  you  for  help?  You  know  you  couldn't. 
Learn  from  your  own  heart  something  of  His. 
Listen,  I  haven't  told  you  all.  It  seems  as  if  I 
never  could  tell  all  about  Him.  But  see  how  He 
feels  about  poor  lost  Zell,  when  I,  her  own  sister, 
was  almost  hating  her,"  and,  reaching  her  hand  to 
the  table,  she  took  her  Bible  and  read  Christ's 
words  to  "  a  woman  of  the  city,  which  was  a 
sinner." 

At  this  Mrs.  Groody  broke  down  completely,  and 
with  clasped  hands  and  streaming  eyes,  cried, 

"  I  will  go  to  Him  ;  I  will  fear  and  doubt  no 
more." 

A  trembling  hand  was  now  laid  on  Edith's 
shoulder,  and,  looking  up,  she  saw  Mrs.  Lacey  stand- 
ing by  her  side  with  a  face  so  white,  so  eager,  so  full 
of  unutterable  longing,  that  it  might  have  made  a 
Christian  artist's  ideal  of  a  soul  famishing  for  the 


392  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DO 

'  Bread  of  Life."     In  a  low,  timid,  yet  thrilling  tone, 
she  asked, 

"  Miss  Allen,  do  you  think  he  would  receive  such 
as  me?" 

"  Yes,  thus,"  cried  Edith,  as  with  a  divine  im- 
pulse and  a  great  yearning  pity  she  sprang  up  and 
threw  her  arms  around  Mrs.  Lacey. 

Hope  dawned  in  the  poor  worn  face  like  the 
morning.  Belief  in  God's  love  and  sympathy  seemed 
to  flow  into  her  sad  heart  from  the  other  human 
heart  that  was  pressed  against  it.  The  spiritual 
electric  circle  was  completed — Edith,  with  her  hand 
of  faith  in  God's,  took  the  trembling,  groping  hand 
of  another  and  placed  it  there  also. 

Two  great  tears  gathered  in  Mrs.  Lacey's  eyes, 
and  she  bowed  her  head  for  a  moment  on  Edith's 
shoulder,  and  murmured,  "  I'll  try — I  think  I  may 
venture  to  him." 

Hannibal  now  appeared  at  the  door,  saying, 
rather  huskily  and  brokenly,  considering  his  mes- 
sage, 

"  Miss  Edie,  you'se  mudder's  awake,  an  'd  like  some 
water." 

"  That's  what  we  all  have  been  wanting,  '  water  ' 
— '  the  water  of  life,'  "  said  Mrs.  Groody,  wiping  her 
eyes,  "  and  never  was  my  parched  old  heart  so  re- , 
freshed  before.  I  don't  care  how  hot  this  summer 
is,  or  how  aggravatin  things  are,  I  feel  as  if  I'd  be 
helped  through  it.  And,  my  dear,  good-night.  I 
come  here  to  try  to  do  you  good,  and  you've  done 
me  more  good  than  I  ever  thought  could  happen 


EDITH  TELLS  THE  OLD,  OLD  STORY.         393 

again.  I'm  goin  to  kiss  you — I  can't  help  it.  Good- 
bye, and  may  the  good  Lord  bless  your  sweet  face  ;" 
and  Mrs.  Groody,  like  one  of  old,  climbed  up  into 
her  chariot,  and  "went  on  her  way  rejoicing." 

In  their  close  good-night  embrace,  Laura  whis- 
pered,  "  I  begin  to  understand  it  a  little  now,  Edie, 
but  I  think  I  see  everything  only  through  your  eyes, 
not  my  own." 

"  As  old  Malcom  said  to  me  the  other  day,  so 
now  I  say  to  you,  '  Ye'll  learn  it  a'  soon.' " 

Edith  soon  retired  to  rest  also,  and  Mrs.  Lacey 
sat  at  Mrs.  Allen's  side,  returning  the  sick  woman's 
slights  and  scorn,  somewhat  as  the  patient  God 
returns  ours,  by  watching  over  her. 

Her  eyes,  no  longer  cast  down  with  the  pathetic 
discouragement  of  the  past,  seemed  looking  far 
away  upon  some  distant  scene.  She  was  following 
in  her  thoughts  the  steps  of  the  Magi  from  the  East 
to  where,  as  yet  far  distant,  the  "  Star  of  Bethle- 
hem" glimmered  with  promise  and  hope. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

HANNIBAL    LEARNS    HOW    HIS    HEART   CAN    BB 
WHITE. 

WHEN  Edith  rose  the  next  morning  she  found 
Laura  only  at  her  mother's  bedside.  Mrs. 
Lacey  had  returned  quite  early,  saying  that  she 
would  soon  come  again.  Mrs.  Allen's  delirium  had 
passed  away,  leaving  her  exceedingly  weak,  but  the 
doctor  said^at  his  morning  call: 

"  With  quiet  and  good  nursing  she  will  slowly 
regain  her  usual  health." 

After  he  was  gone,  Laura  said :  "  Taking  care  of 
mother  will  now  be  my  work,  Edie.  I  feel  a  good 
deal  stronger.  I'll  doze  in  a  chair  during  the  day, 
and  I  am  a  light  sleeper  at  night,  so  I  don't  think 
we  will  need  any  more  watchers.  Poor  Mrs.  Lacey 
works  hard  at  home,  I  am  sure,  and  I  don't  want  to 
trespass  on  her  kindness  any  longer.  So  if  Mrs. 
Groody  sends  you  work  you  may  give  all  your  time 
to  it." 

And  early  after  breakfast  quite  a  bundle  did  come 
from  the  hotel,  with  a  scrawl  from  the  housekeeper : 
"  You  may  mend  this  linen,  my  dear,  and  I'll  send 
for  it  to-morrow  night." 

Edith's  eyes  sparkled  at  the  sight  of  the  work  as 
they  never  had  over  the  costliest  gifts  of  jewelry, 


HANNIBAL'S  HEART  TO  BE  WHITE.          395 

Sitting  down  in  the  airy  parlor,  which  was  no  longer 
kept  in  state  for  possible  callers,  she  put  on  her 
thimble,  and,  with  a  courage  and  heroism  greater 
than  many  a  knight  drawing  for  the  first  time  his 
ancestral  sword,  she  took  her  needle  and  joined  the 
vast  army  of  sewing-women.  Lowly  was  the 
position  and  work  first  assigned  to  her — only  mend- 
ing coarse  linen.  And  yet  it  was  with  a  thrill  of 
gratitude  and  joy,  and  a  stronger  hope  than  she  had 
yet  experienced,  that  she  sat  down  to  the  first 
real  work  for  which  she  would  be  paid,  and  in  her 
exultation  she  brandished  her  little  needle  at  the 
spectres  want  and  fear,  as  a  soldier  might  his 
weapon. 

Hannibal  stood  in  the  kitchen  regarding  her  with 
moist  eyes  and  features  that  twitched  nervously. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Edie,  I  neber  tho't  you'd  come  to 
dat." 

"  It's  one  of  the  best  things  I've  come  to  yet," 
said  Edith,  cheerily.  "  We'll  be  taken  care  of, 
Hannibal.  Cheer  up  your  faithful  old  heart. 
Brighter  days  are  coming." 

But,  for  some  reason,  Hannibal  didn  t  cheer  up, 
and  he  stood  looking  very  wistfully  at  Edith.  At 
last  he  commenced, 

"  It  does  my  ole  black  heart  good  to  hear  you 
talk  so,  Miss  Edie " 

"  Why  do  you  persist  in  calling  your  heart  black  ? 
It's  no  such  thing,"  interrupted  Edith. 

"  Yes,  'tis,  Miss  Edie,"  said  Hannibal,  despond, 
ently,  "  I'se  know  'tis.  I'se  black  outside,  and  I 


396  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DO? 

allers  kinder  feel  dat  I'se  more  black  inside.  Nebef 
felt  jes  right  here  yet,  Miss  Edie,"  said  the  old  man, 
laying  his  hand  on  his  breast.  "  I  come  de  nighest 
to  't  de  toder  day  when  you  said  you  lubbed  me. 
Dat  seemed  to  go  down  deep,  but  not  quite  to 
whar  de  trouble  stays  all  de  time." 

"  But,  Miss  Edie,"  continued  he  in  a  whispei, 
"  I'se  hope  you'll  forgive  me,  but  I  couldn't  help 
listenin  to  you  last  night.  I  neber  heerd  such  talk 
afore.  It  seemed  to  broke  my  ole  black  heart  all 
up,  and  made  it  feel  like  de  big  ribers  down  south 
in  de  spring,  when  dey  jes  oberflow  eberyting.  I 
says  to  myself,  dat's  de  Friend  Miss  Edie  sayshe'se 
goin  to  tell  me  about.  And  now,  Miss  Edie, 
would  you  mind  tellin  me  little  about  Him  ?  Cause 
if  He's  your  Friend,  I'd  think  a  heap  of  Him,  too. 
Not  dat  I  specs  He'se  goin  to  bodder  wid  dis  ole 
niggah,  but  den  I'd  jes  like  to  hear  about  Him  a 
little." 

Edith  laid  down  her  work,  and  turned  her  gl.ori- 
ous  dark  eyes,  brimming  over  with  sympathy,  on 
the  poor  old  fellow,  as  he  stood  in  the  doorway 
fairly  trembling  with  the  excess -of  his  feeling. 

"  Come  and  sit  down  here  by  me,"  she  said 

"  Oh,  Miss  Edie,  I'se  isn't " 

"  No  words — come." 

Hannibal  crouched  down  on  a  divan  near. 

"  What  makes  you  think  He  wouldn't  bi  thef 
xvith  you  ?  " 

"  Well,  I'se  don't  know  'zactly,  Miss  Edie  Fs« 
only  Hannibal." 


HANNIBAL S  HEART  TO  BE  WHITE.          397 

"  Hannibal,"  said  Edith,  earnestly,  "  you  are  the 
best  man  I  know  in  all  the  world." 

"  Oh,  Lor  bless  you,  Miss  Edie,  how  you  talk ; 
you'se  jes  done  gone  crazy." 

"  No,  I  haven't.  I  never  spoke  in  more  sober 
earnest.  You  are  faithful  and  true,  unselfish  and 
patient,  and  abound  in  the  best  material  of  which 
men  are  made.  I  admit/'  she  added,  with  a  twinkle 
in  her  eye,  "  that  one  very  common  element  of  man- 
hood, as  I  have  observed  it,  is  dreadfully  lacking, 
that  is  conceit.  I  wish  I  were  as  good  as  you  are, 
Hannibal." 

"  Oh,  Miss  Edie,  don't  talk  dat  way,  you  jes  done 
discourages  me.  If  you'd  only  say,  Hannibal, 
you'se  sick  but  I'se  got  a  mighty  powerful  medicine 
for  you ;  if  you'd  only  say,  I  know  you  isn't 
good  ;  I  know  your  ole  heart  is  black,  but  I  know 
a  way  to  make  it  white,  I'd  stoop  down  and  kiss  the 
ground  you'se  walks  on.  Dere's  sumpen  wrong 
here,  Miss  Edie,"  said  he,  laying  his  hand  on  his 
breast  again,  and  shaking  his  head,  with  a  tear  in 
the  corner  of  each  eye,  "  I  tells  you  dere's  sumpen 
wrong.  I  don't  know  jes  what  'tis.  My  heart's 
like  a  baby  a-cryin'  for  it  doesn't  know  what.  Den 
it  gits  jes  like  a  stun,  as  hard  and  as  heavy.  I  don't 
understan'  my  ole  heart ;  I  guess  it's  kinder  sick  and 
wants  a  doctor,  'cause  it  don't  work  right.  But 
dere's  one  ting  I  does  understan'.  It  'pears  dat  it 
would  be  a  good  heaven  'nuff  if  I'se  could  allers  be 
waitin'  on  you  alls.  But  Massa  Allen's  gone  ;  Miss 
Zell,  poor  chile,  is  gone ;  and  I'se  growin'  ole,  Miss 


398  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOt 

Edie,  IV;  £rovin'  ole.  De  wool  is  white,  de  jints 
are  s'.ifif,  and  de  feet  tired.  Dey  can't  tote  dis  ole 
body  roun'  much  longer.  Where  am  I  gwine,  Miss 
Edie?  What's  gwine  to  become  of  ole  Hannibal? 
I'se  was  allers  afeard  of  de  dark.  If  I  could  only 
find  you  in  de  todder  world  and  wait  on  you,  dat's 
all  I  ask,  but  I'se  afeard  I'll  get  lost,  it  seems  such 
a  big,  empty  place." 

"  Poor  old  Hannibal !  Then  you  are  '  heavy- 
laden  '  too,"  said  Edith,  gently. 

"  Indeed  I  is,  Miss  Edie,  'pears  as  if  I  couldn't 
stan*  it  ar.oder  minute.  And  when  I  heerd  you 
talkin'  about  dat  Friend  last  night,  and  tellin'  how 
good  ILe  was  to  people,  and  He  seemed  to  do  you 
such  a  heap  of  good,  dat  I  would  jes  like  to  hear 
little  'bout  Him." 

"  Wait  till  I  get  my  Bible,"  said  Edith. 

"  Bless  you,  Miss  Edie,  you'se  needn't  stop  your 
work.  You  can  jes  tell  me  anyting  dat  come  into 
/ou'se  head." 

"  Then  I  wouldn't  be  like  Him,  Hannibal.  He 
used  to  stop  and  give  the  kindest  and  most  patient 
attention  to  every  one  that  came  to  Him,  and,  as 
far  as  I  can  make  out,  the  poorer  they  were,  the 
more  sinful  and  despised  they  seemed,  the  more 
attention  He  gave  to  them." 

"Dat's  mighty  quar,"  said  Hannibal,  musingly, 
"  not  a  bit  like  de  big  folks  dat  I'se  seen." 

"  I  don't  understand  it  all  myself  yet,  Hannibal. 
But  the  Bible  tells  me  that  He  was  God  come  down 
to  earth  to  save  the  world.  He  says  to  the  lost  and 


fTANNIBALS  HEART  TO  BE  WHITE.  399 

sinful — to  all  who  are  poor  and  needy — in  brief,  to 
the  heavy-laden,  '  Come  unto  me.'  So  I  went  to 
Him,  Hannibal,  and  you  can  go  just  as  well." 

The  old  man's  eyes  glistened,  but  he  said,  doubt- 
fully, "  Yes,  but  den  you'se  Miss  Edie,  and  I'se  only 
black  Hannibal.  I  wish  we'd  all  lived  when  He  was 
here.  I  might  have  shine  his  boots,  and  done  little 
tings  for  Him,  so  He'd  say,  '  Poor  old  Hannibal, 
you  does  as  well  as  you  knows  how.  I'll  'member 
you,  and  you  shan't  go  away  in  de  dark.'  " 

Edith  smiled  and  cried  at  the  same  time  over  the 
quaint  pathos  of  the  simple  creature's  words,  but 
she  said,  earnestly,  "  You  need  not  go  away  in  the 
dark,  for  He  said,  '  I  am  the  light  of  the  world,'  and 
if  you  go  to  Him  you  will  always  be  in  the  light." 

"  I'd  go  in  a  minute,"  said  Hannibal,  eagerly,  "  if 
I  only  know'd  how,  and  wasn't  afear'd."  Then, 
as  if  a  sudden  thought  struck  him,  he  asked,  "  Miss 
Edie,  did  He  eber  hab  anyting  to  do  wid  a  black 
man?" 

Edith  was  so  unfamiliar  with  the  Bible  that  she 
could  not  recall  any  distinct  case,  but  she  said,  with 
the  earnestness  of  such  full  belief  on  her  part,  that 
it  satisfied  his  child-like  mind,  "  I  am  sure  He  did, 
for  all  kinds  of  people — people  that  no  one  else 
would  touch  or  look  at — came  to  Him,  or  He  went 
to  them,  and  spoke  so  kindly  to  them  and  forgave  all 
their  sins." 

"  Bress  Him,  Miss  Edie,  dat  kinder  sounds  like 
what  I  wants." 

Edith  thought  a  moment,  and,  with  her  quick, 


4OO  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DOT 

logical  mind,  sought  to  construct  a  simple  chain  of 
truth  that  would  bring  to  the  trusting  nature  she 
was  trying  to  guide  the  perfect  assurance  that 
Jesus'  love  and  mercy  embraced  him  as  truly  as 
herself. 

They  made  a  beautiful  picture  that  moment ;  she  ' 
with  her  hands,  that  had  dropped  all  earthiy  tasks 
for  the  sake  of  this  divine  work,  clasped  in  her  lap; 
her  lustrous  eyes  dewy  with  sympathy  and  feeling, 
looking  far  away  into  the  deep  blue  of  the  June 
sky,  as  if  seeking  some  heavenly  inspiration ;  and 
quaint  old  Hannibal,  leaning  forward  in  his  eager- 
ness, and  gazing  upon  her,  as  if  his  life  depended 
upon  her  next  utterances. 

It  was  a  picture  of  the  Divine  Artist's  own  crea- 
tion. He  had  inspired  the  faith  in  one  and  the 
questioning  unrest  in  the  other.  He,  with  Edith's 
lips,  as  ever  by  human  lips,  was  teaching  the  way 
of  life.  Glorious  privilege,  that  our  weak  voices 
should  be  as  the  voice  of  God,  telling  the  lost  and 
wandering  where  lies  the  way  to  life  and  home. 
The  angels  leaned  over  the  golden  walls  to  watch 
that  scene,  while  many  a  proud  pageant  passed  un- 
heeded. 

"  Hannibal,"  said  Edith,  after  her  momentary 
abstraction,  "  God  made  everything,  didn't  He  ?  " 

"  Sartin." 

"  Then  He  made  you,  and  you  are  one  of  His 
creatures,  are  you  not  ?  " 

"  Sartin  I  is,  Miss  Edie.* 

"  Then  see  here  what  is  in  the  Bible.    Almost  the 


HANNIBAL'S  HEART  TO  BE  WHITE. 


4OI 


last  thing  He  said  to  His  followers  before  He  went 
up  into  heaven,  was,  '  Go  ye  into  all  the  world  and 
preach  the  gospel  to  every  creature.'  Gospel  means 
'  good  news,'  and  the  good  news  was,  that  God  had 
come  down  from  heaven  and  become  a  man,  so  we 
wouldn't  be  afraid  of  Him,  and  that  He  would  take 
away  their  sins  and  save  all  who  would  let  Him. 
Now,  remember,  He  didn't  send  His  preachers  to 
the  white  people,  nor  to  the  black  people,  but  to 
all  the  world,  to  every  creature  alike,  and  so  He 
meant  you  and  me,  Hannibal,  and  you  as  much  as 
me.  I  am  just  as  sure  He  will  receive  you  as  that 
He  received  me." 

"  Dat's  'nuff,  Miss  Edie.  Ole  Hannibal  can  go 
too.  And  I'se  a  gwine,  Miss  Edie,  I'se  a  gwine 
right  to  Him.  Dere's  only  one  ting  dat  troubles 
me  yet.  What  is  I  gwine  to  do  with  my  ole  black 
heart  ?  I  know  dere's  sumpen  wrong  wid  it.  It's 
boddered  me  all  my  life." 

"  O  Hannibal,"  said  Edith  eagerly,  "  I  was  read- 
ing something  last  night,  that  I  think  will  just  suit 
you.  I  thought  I  would  read  a  little  in  the  Old 
Testament,  and  I  turned  to  a  place  that  I  didn't  un- 
derstand very  well,  but  I  came  to  these  words,  and 
they  made  me  think  of  you,  for  you  are  always  talk- 
ing about  your  '  old  black  heart.'  "  And  she  read : 

"  I  will  give  them  one  heart,  and  I  will  put  a  new 
spirit  within  you  ;  and  I  will  take  the  stony  heart 
out  of  their  flesh  and  will  give  them  an  heart  of 
fiesh." 

To  Hannibal  the  words  seemed  a  revelation  from 


402  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DOf 

heaven.     Standing  before  her,  with  streaming  eyes 
he  said ; 

"  O  Miss  Edie,  you'se  been  an  angel  of  light  to 
ire.  Dat  was  jes  de  berry  message  I  wanted.  I 
knowed  my  ole  heart  was  nothin  but  a  black  stun. 
De  Lord  couldn't  do  nothin  wid  it  but  trow  it 
away.  But  tanks  be  to  His  name,  He  says  He'll 
give  me  a  new  one — a  heart  of  flesh.  Now  I  sees 
dat  my  heart  can  be  white  like  yours,  Miss  Edie. 
Bress  de  Lord,  I'se  a  gwine,  Fse  a  comin,"  and 
Hannibal  vanished  into  the  kitchen,  feeling  that  he 
must  be  alone  in  the  glad  tumult  of  his  emotions. 


CHAPTER  XXX 
EDITH'S  AND  ARDEN'S  FRIENDSHIP. 

AS  Edith  laid  aside  her  work  for  a  frugal  dinner 
at  one  o'clock,  she  heard  the  sound  of  a  hoe  in 
her  garden.  The  thought  of  Arden  at  once  recurred 
to  her,  but  looking  out  she  saw  old  Malcom. 
Throwing  a  handkerchief  over  her  head  she  ran  out 
to  him  exclaiming : 

"  How  good  you  are,  Mr.  McTrump,  to  come 
and  help  me  when  I  know  you  are  so  very  busy  at 
home." 

"  Weel,  nothin  to  boast  on,"  replied  Malcom,  "  I 
tho't  that  if  ye  had  na  one  a  lookin  after  the  garden 
save  Hannibal's  '  spook,'  ye'd  have  but  a  ghaistly 
crop.  But  I'm -a  thinkin  there's  mair  than  a  ghaist 
been  here." 

"  It  was  Arden  Lacey,"  said  Edith  frankly,  but 
with  deepening  color.  Malcom,  in  telling  his  wife 
about  it  said,  "  She  looked  like  the  rose-bush  a'  in 
bloom,  that  she  was  a  stonin  beside." 

Edith,  seeing  the  mischievous  twinkle  in  her  little 
friend's  eye,  added  hastily,  "  Both  Mrs.  Lacey  and 
her  son  have  been  very  kind  to  us  in  our  sickness 
and  trouble,  as  well  as  yourself.  But  Mr.  McTrump/' 
she  continued,  anxious  to  change  the  subject,  also 


404 


WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOt 


eager  to  speak  on  the  topic  uppermost  in  her  thoughts, 
"  I  think  I  am  beginning  to  '  learn  it  a'  *  as  you  said, 
about  that  good  Friend  who  suffeied  for  us  that  we 
might  not  suffer.  What  you  and  your  wife  said  to 
me  the  other  day  led  me  to  read  the  '  Gude  Book' 
after  I  got  home.  I  don't  feel  as  I  did  then.  I 
think  I  can  trust  Him  now." 

Malcom  dropped  his  hoe  and  came  over  into  the 
path  beside  her. 

"  God  be  praised,"  he  said,  "  I  gie  ye  the  right 
hond  o'  fellowship  an  welcome  ye  into  the  kirk  o'  the 
Lord.  Ye  noo  belong  to  the  household  o'  faith, 
an  God's  true  Israel,  an  may  His  gude  Spirit  guide 
ye  into  all  truth." 

The  little  man  spoke  very  earnestly,  and  with  a 
certain  dignity  and  authority  that  his  small  stature 
and  rude  working  dress  could  not  diminish.  A 
sudden  feeling  of  solemnity  and  awe  came  over 
Edith,  and  she  felt  as  if  she  were  crossing  the  mystic 
threshold  and  entering  the  one  true  church  consist- 
ing of  all  believers  in  Christ. 

For  a  moment  she  reverently  bowed  her  head, 
and  a  sweeter  sense  of  security  came  over  her  as  if 
she  were  no  longer  an  outsider,  but  had  been  re- 
ceived into  the  household. 

Malcom,  a  "  priest  unto  God  "  through  his  faith,  of- 
ficiated at  the  simple  ceremony.  The  birds  sang  the 
choral  service.  The  wind-shaken  roses,  blooming 
around  her,  with  their  sweet  odors,  were  the  censers 
and  incense,  and  the  sun-lighted  garden,  the 
earliest  sacred  place  of  Bible  history,  where  the  first 


EDITH'S  AND  ARDEXTS  FRIENDSHIP.         405 

fair  woman  worshipped,  was  the  hallowed  ground  of 
the  initiatory  rite. 

"Why,  Mr.  McTrump,  I  feel  almost  as  if  I  had 
joined  the  church,"  said  Edith  after  a  moment. 

"  An  sae  ye  ha  afore  God,  an  I  hope  ere  long 
ye'll  openly  profess  ye  Ye  faith  before  men." 

"  Do  you  think  I  ought  ?  "  said  Edith  thought- 
fully. 

"  Of  coorse  I  do,  but  the  Gude  Book  '11  teach 
a*  aboot  it.  Ye  canna  gang  far  astray  wif  that  to 
guide  ye." 

"  I  would  like  to  join  the  church  that  you  belong 
to,  Mr.  McTrump,  as  soon  as  I  feel  that  I  am  ready, 
for  it  was  you  and  your  good  wife  that  turned  my 
thoughts  in  the  right  direction.  I  was  almost  desper- 
ate with  trouble  and  shame  when  I  came  to  you 
that  afternoon,  and  it  was  your  speaking  of  the 
Bible  and  Jesus,  and  especially  your  kindness,  that 
made  me  feel  that  there  might  be  some  hope  and 
help  in  God." 

The  old  man's  eyes  became  so  moist  that  he 
turned  away  for  a  moment,  but  recovering  himself 
after  a  little  he  said  : 

"  See  noo,  our  homely  deeds  and  words  can  be 
like  the  seeds  we  drop  into  the  mould.  Look  aroon 
once  and  see  how  green  and  grand  the  garden  is, 
and  a'  from  the  wee  brown  seeds  we  planted  the 
spring.  Sae  would  the  garden  o'  the  Lord  bloom 
and  floorish  if  a*  were  dropin  a  'word  in  season '  and 
a  bit  o'  kindness  here  and  there.  But  if  I  stay  here 
an  preach  to  ye  that  need  na  preachin,  these  sina 


4o6  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DO f 

D  the  garden,  the  weeds,  will  grow  apace.  Go  vou 
an  look  in  ye're  strawberry  bed." 

With  an  exclamation  of  delight  Edith  pounced 
upon  a  fair  sized  red  berry,  the  first  she  had  picked 
from  her  own  vines.  Then  glancing  around,  one 
and  another  showed  its  red  cheek  through  the  green 
leaves,  till  with  a  little  cry  of  exultation,  she  said : 

"  Oh,  Mr.  McTrump,  I  can  get  enough  for  mother 
and  Laura." 

"  Aye,  and  enoof  to  moisten  ye're  own  red  lips 
wi  too,  I'm  a-thinkin.  There'll  be  na  crop  the  year 
wourth  speakin  of;  but  next  June  'twill  puzzle 
ye  to  gither  them.  But  ye  a'  can  ha  a  dainty  sau- 
cer yoursels  the  season,  when  ye're  a  mind  to 
stoop  for  them." 

Edith  soon  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  her  mother 
and  Laura  enjoying  some,  and  as  Malcom  said,  there 
were  plenty  for  her,  and  they  tasted  like  the  Ambro- 
sia of  the  Gods.  Varied  experiences  had  so  thorough- 
ly engrossed  her  thoughts  and  time  the  past  few 
days,  that  she  had  scarcely  looked  toward  her  garden. 
But  with  the  delicious  flavor  of  the  strawberries  lin- 
gering in  her  mouth,  and  with  the  consciousness  that 
she  enjoyed  picking  them  much  more  than  sewing, 
the  thought  of  winning  her  bread  by  the  culture  of 
the  ground  grew  in  her  favor. 

"  Oh,  how  much  I  would  rather  be  out  there  with 
Malcom,"  she  sighed. 

Glancing  up  from  her  work  during  the  afternoon, 
she  saw  Arden  Lacey  on  his  way  to  the  village, 
There  was  a  strange  mingling  of  hope  and  feal  in 


EDI  TITS  AND  ARDEWS  FRIENDSHIP  407 

his  mind.  His  mother's  manner  had  been  such  as 
to  lead  him  to  say  when  alone  with  her  after  break- 
fast: 

"  I  think  your  watching  has  done  you  good, 
Mother,  instead  of  wearying  you  too  much,  as  I 
feared," 

She  had  suddenly  turned  and  placed  both  her 
hands  on  his  shoulders,  saying: 

"  Arden,  I  hardly  dare  speak  of  it  yet.  It  seems 
too  good  to  be  true,  but  a  hope  is  coming  into  my 
heart  like  the  dawn  after  night.  She's  worthy  of 
your  love,  however  it  may  result,  and  if  I  find  true 
what  she  told  me  last  night,  I  shall  have  reason  to 
bless  her  name  forever  ;  but  I  see  only  a  glimmer  of 
light  yet  and  I  rejoice  with  fear  and  trembling." 
And  she  told  him  what  had  occurred. 

He  was  deeply  moved,  but  not  for  the  same  cause 
as  his  mother.  His  desire  and  devotion  went  no 
farther  than  Edith.  "  Can  she  have  read  my  let- 
ter ?  "  he  thought,  and  he  was  consumed  with  anx- 
iety for  some  expression  of  her  feeling  toward  him. 
Therefore  he  was  glad  that  business  called  him  to 
the  village  that  afternoon,  but  his  steps  were  slow 
as  he  approached  the  little  cottage,  and  his  eyes 
were  upon  it  as  a  pilgrim  gazes  at  a  shrine  he  long 
has  sought.  He  envied  Malcom  working  in  the 
garden,  and  felt  that  if  he  could  work  there  every 
day,  it  would  be  Adam's  life  before  he  fell.  Then 
he  caught  a  glimpse  of  Edith  sewing  at  the  window* 
and  he  dropped  his  eyes  instantly.  He  would  not 
be  so  afraid  of  a  battery  of  a  hundred  guns  as  of 


408  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DO  f 

that  poor  sewing-girl  (for  such  Edith  now  was), 
stitching  away  on  Mrs.  Groody's  coarse  hotel  linen. 
But  Edith  had  noted  his  timid,  wistful  looks,  and 
calling  Hannibal,  said ; 

"  Please  give  that  note  to  Mr.  Lacey.  He  is 
just  passing  toward  the  village." 

Hannibal,  with  the  impressive  dignity  he  had 
learned  in  olden  times,  handed  the  missive  to  Arden, 
saying :  "  Miss  Edie  telled  me  to  guve  you  dis 
'scription." 

If  Hannibal  had  been  Hebe  he  could  not  have 
been  a  more  welcome  messenger. 

Arden  could  not  help  his  hand  trembling  as  he 
took  the  letter,  but  he  managed  to  say :  "  I  hope 
Miss  Allen  is  well." 

"  Her  health  am  berry  much  disproved,"  and 
Hannibal  retired  with  a  stately  bow. 

Arden  quickened  his  steps,  holding  the  missive  in 
his  hand.  As  soon  as  he  was  out  of  sight,  he 
opened  and  devoured  Edith's  words.  The  light  of  a 
great  joy  dawned  in  his  face,  and  made  it  look  noble 
and  beautiful,  as  indeed  almost  every  human  face 
appears,  when  the  light  of  a  pure  love  falls  upon  it. 
Where  most  men  would  have  murmured  at  the 
meagre  return  for  their  affection,  he  felt  himself 
immeasurably  rewarded  and  enriched,  and  it  seemed 
as  if  he  were  walking  on  air  the  rest  of  the  day. 
With  a  face  set  like  a  flint,  he  resolved  to  be  true 
to  the  condition  implied  in  the  underscored  word 
"  friendship/'  and  never  to  whisper  of  love  to  her 
again.  But  a  richer  experience  was  still  in  store  fof 


EDITHS  AND  ARDEWS  FRIENDSHIP.          409 

him.  For,  on  his  return,  in  the  cool  of  the  evening, 
Edith  was  in  the  garden  picking  currants.  She  saw 
him  coming,  and  thought,  "  If  he  is  ever  to  be  a 
friend  worth  the  name,  I  must  break  the  ice  of  his 
absurd  diffidence  and  formality.  And  the  sooner 
he  comes  to  know  me  as  I  am,  the  sooner  he  will 
find  out  that  I  am  like  other  people,  and  he  will 
have  a  new  '  revelation'  that  will  cure  him  of  his 
infatuation.  I  would  like  him  for  a  friend  very 
much,  not  only  because  I  need  his  help,  but  because 
one  likes  a  little  society  now  and  then,  and  he  seems 
so  well  educated,  if  he  is  '  quar/  as  Hannibal  says." 
So  she  startled  poor  Arden  almost  as  much  as  if 
one  of  his  Shakspearean  heroines  had  called  him  in 
audible  voice,  by  saying,  as  he  came  opposite  her, 

"  Mr.  Lacey,  won't  you  come  in  a  moment  and 
tell  me  if  it  is  time  to  pick  my  currants,  and  whether 
you  think  I  could  sell  them  in  the  village,  or  at  the 
hotel  ?  " 

This  address,  so  matter-of-fact  in  tone  and  char- 
acter, seemed  to  him  like  the  June  twilight,  contain- 
ing, in  some  subtle  manner,  the  essence  of  all  that 
was  beautiful  and  full  of  promise  in  his  heart-his- 
tory. He  bowed  and  went  toward  the  little  gate  to 
comply  with  her  request,  as  Adam  might  if  he  had 
been  created  outside  of  Eden  and  Eve  inside,  and 
she  had  looked  over  a  flowering  hedge  in  the  purple 
twilight,  and  told  him  to  come  in.  He  was  not 
going  merely  to  look  at  currants  and  consider  their 
marketable  condition  ;  he  was  entering  openly  upon 
the  knightly  service  to  which  he  had  devoted  him- 


410  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DO  f 

self.  He  was  approaching  his  idol,  which  was  not  a 
heathen  stock  or  stone,  but  a  sweet  little  woman. 
In  regard  to  the  currants  he  ventured  dubiously : 

"  They  might  do  for  pies." 

In  regard  to  herself,  his  eyes  said,  in  spite  of  his 
purpose  to  be  merely  friendly,  that  she  was  too  good 
for  the  gods  of  Mount  Olympus.  He  both  amused 
and  interested  Edith,  whose  long  familiarity  with  so- 
ciety and  lack  of  any  such  feeling  as  swayed  him, 
made  her  quite  at  ease.  With  a  twinkle  in  her  eyes, 
she  said  : 

"  I  have  thought  that  perhaps  Mrs.  Groody  could 
help  me  find  sale  for  them  at  the  hotel." 

"  I  am  going  there  to-morrow,  and  I  will  ask  her 
lor  you,  if  you  wish,"  said  Arden,  timidly. 

"  Thank  you,"  replied  Edith,  "  I  would  be  very 
much  obliged  to  you  if  you  will.  You  see  I  wish  to 
sell  everything  out  of  the  garden  that  I  can  find  a 
market  for." 

She  was  rather  astonished  at  the  effect  of  this 
mercenary  speech,  for  there  was  a  wonderful  blend- 
ing of  sympathy  and  admiration  in  his  face,  as  he 
said: 

"  I  am  frequently  going  to  the  hotel  and  village, 
and  if  you  will  let  me  know  what  you  have  to  dis- 
pose of,  I  can  find  out  whether  it  is  in  demand,  and 
carry  it  to  market  for  you."  He  could  not  help 
adding,  with  a  voice  trembling  with  feeling,  "  Miss 
Allen,  I  am  so  glad  you  permit  me  to  be  of  some 
help  to  you." 

"  Oh  dear,"  thought  Edith,  "how  can  I  make  him 


EDITH  S  AND  ARDEWS  FRIENDSHIP.         4 1  z 

understand  what  I  really  am?"  She  turned  to  him 
with  an  expression  that  was  both  perplexed  and 
quizzical,  and  said  : 

"  Mr.  Lacey,  I  very  frankly  and  gratefully  accept 
your  delicately-offered  friendship  (emphasizing  the 
last  word),  not  only  because  of  my  need,  but  of  yours 
also.  If  any  one  needs  a  sensible  friend,  I  think  you 
do.  You  truly  must  have  lived  a  '  hermit's  life  in 
the  world  '  to  have  such  strange  ideas  of  people. 
Let  me  tell  you  as  a  perfect  certainty,  that  no  such 
person  exists  as  the  Edith  Allen  that  you  have 
imagined.  She  is  no  more  a  reality  than  your  other 
shadows,  and  the  more  you  know  of  me  the  sooner 
you  will  find  it  out.  I  am  not  in  the  least  like  a 
heroine  in  a  romance.  I  live  on  the  most  substan- 
tial food  rather  than  moonlight,  and  usually  have  an 
excellent  appetite.  I  am  the  most  practical,  matter- 
of-fact  creature  in  existence,  and  you  will  find  no 
one  in  this  place  more  sharp  on  the  question  of  dol- 
lars and  cents.  Indeed,  I  am  continually  in  a  most 
mercenary  frame  of  mind,  and  this  very  moment 
here,  in  the  romantic  June  twilight,  if  you  ransacked 
history,  poetry,  and  all  the  fine  arts,  you  could 
not  tell  me  anything  half  so  beautiful,  half  so  wel- 
come, as  how  to  make  money  in  a  fair,  honorable 
way." 

"  There,"  thought  she, "  that  will  be  another  '  reve- 
lation '  to  him.  If  he  don't  jump  over  the  garden 
fence  in  his  haste  to  escape  such  a  monster,  I  shall 
be  glad." 

But  Arden's  face  only  grew  more  grave  and  gen. 


4 1 2  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DO  t 

tie  as  he  looked  down  upon  her,  and  he  asked,  in  & 
low  tone : 

"  Is  it  because  you  love  the  money  itself,  Miss 
Allen?" 

"  Well,  no,"  said  Edith,  somewhat  taken  aback. 
"  I  can  never  earn  enough  to  make  it  worth  while  to 
do  that.  Misers  love  to  count  their  money,"  she 
added,  with  a  little  pathetic  accent  in  her  voice, 
"  and  I  fear  mine  will  go  before  I  can  count  it." 

"  You  wish  me  to  think  less  of  you,  then,  because 
you  are  bravely,  and  without  thought  of  sparing 
yourself,  trying  to  earn  money  to  provide  home- 
shelter  and  comfort  for  your  feeble  mother  and  sis- 
ter. You  wish  me  to  think  you  common-place 
because  you  have  the  heroism  to  do  any  kind  of 
work,  rather  than  be  helpless  and  dependent.  Par- 
don me,  but  for  such  a  '  practical,  matter-of-fact ' 
lady,  I  do  not  think  your  logic  is  good." 

Edith's  vexation  and  perplexity  only  increased, 
and  she  said,  earnestly,  "  But  I  wish  you  to  under- 
stand that  I  am  only  Edith  Allen,  and  as  poor  as 
poverty,  nothing  but  a  sewing-girl,  and  only  hoping 
to  arrive  at  the  dignity  of  a  gardener.  The  majority 
of  the  world  thinks  I  am  not  even  fit  to  speak  to,1 
she  added,  in  a  low  tone. 

Arden  bowed  his  head,  as  if  in  reverence  before 
her,  and  then  said,  in  a  low,  firm  tone, 

"  And  I  wish  you  to  understand  that  I  am  only 
Arden  Lacey,  with  a  sot  for  a  father,  and  the  scorn, 
contempt,  and  hatred  of  all  the  world  as  my  heri- 
tage. I  am  a  slip-shod  farmer.  Our  place  is  heavily 


EDITH'S  AND  ARDEN' S  FRIENDSHIP.      4x3 

mortgaged,  and  will  eventually  be  sold  away  from 
us.  It  grows  more  weeds  now  than  anything  else; 
and  it  seems  that  nettles  have  been  the  principal 
crop  that  I  have  reaped  all  my  life.  Thus,  you  see, 
I  am  poorer  than  poverty,  and  am  rich  only  in  my 
mother,  and,  eventually,  I  hope,"  he  added  timidly, 
"in  the  possession  of  your  friendship,  Miss  Allen; 
I  shall  try  so  sincerely  and  hard  to  deserve  it." 

With  a  frown,  a  laugh,  and  a  shy  look  of  sym- 
pathy at  him,  Edith  said,  "  I  don't  see  but  you 
have  got  to  find  out  your  mistake  for  yourself. 
Time  and  facts  cure  many  follies."  But  she  found 
little  encouragement  in  his  incredulous  smile. 

The  next  moment  she  turned  upon  him  so  sharply 
that  he  was  startled. 

41 1  am  a  business  woman,"  she  said,  "  and  con- 
duct my  affairs  on  business  principles.  You  said,  I 
think,  you  would  help  me  find  a  market  for  the 
produce  of  my  place  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  he  replied. 

"  As  certainly  you  must  take  fifteen  per  cent,  com- 
mission on  all  sales." 

"  Oh,  Miss  Allen,"  commenced  Arden,  "  I 
couldn't " 

"  There,"  said  she  decisively,  "  you  haven't  the 
first  idea  of  business.  Not  a  thing  can  you  touch 
unless  you  comply  with  my  conditions.  There  is 
no  sentiment,  I  assure  you,  connected  with  currants 
and  cabbages." 

"  You  may  be  certain,  Miss  Allen,  that  I  would 
comply  with  any  condition,"  said  Arden,  with  the 


414  WffA  T  CAN  SHE  DO? 

air  of  one  who  is  cornered,  "  but  let  me  suggest  that 
since  we  are  arranging  this  matter  so  strictly  on 
business  grounds,  that  ten  per  cent,  is  all  I  should 
take.  That  is  the  regular  commission,  and  is  all  I 
pay  in  sending  produce  to  New  York." 

"  Oh,  I  didn't  know  that,"  said  the  experienced 
and  uncompromising  woman  of  business,  innocently. 
"  Do  you  think  that  would  pay  you  for  your 
trouble  ?  " 

"  I  think  it  would,"  he  replied,  so  demurely  and 
yet  with  such  a  twinkle  in  his  blue  eyes,  that  now 
looked  very  different  with  the  light  of  hope  and 
happiness  in  them,  that  Edith  turned  away  with  a 
laugh. 

But  she  said,  with  assumed  sharpness,  "  See  that 
you  keep  your  accounts  straight.  I  shall  be  a  very 
dragon  over  your  account-book." 

Thus  the  ice  was  broken,  and  Edith  and  Arden 
became  friends. 

The  future  has  now  been  quite  clearly  indicated 
to  the  reader,  and,  lest  my  story  should  grow  weari- 
some as  a  "  twice  told  tale,"  we  pass  over  several 
subsequent  months  with  but  a  few  words. 

It  was  not  a  good  fruit  year,  and  Edith's  place 
had  been  sadly  neglected  previous  to  her  possession. 
Therefore,  though  Arden  surprised  himself  in  the 
sharp  business  traits  he  developed  as  Edith's  sales- 
man, the  results  were  not  very  large.  But  still  they 
greatly  assisted  her,  and  amounted  to  more  than 
the  earnings  of  her  unskilled  hands  from  other 
sources.  She  insisted  on  doing  everything  on  busi- 


EDITH'S  AND  ARDEN'S  FRIENDSHIP.      4^ 

ness  principles,  and  made  Arden  take  his  ten  per 
cent.,  which  was  of  real  help  to  him  in  this  way. 
He  gave  all  the  money  to  his  mother,  saying,  "/ 
couldn't  spend  it  to  save  my  life."  Mrs.  Lacey  had 
many  uses  for  every  penny  she  could  obtain. 

Then  Edith  paid  old  Malcom  by  making  up  bou- 
quets for  sale  at  the  hotel,  and  arranging  baskets  of 
flowers  for  parties  there  and  elsewhere,  and  other 
lighter  labors.  Mrs.  Groody  continued  to  send  her 
work;  and  thus  during  the  summer  and  early  fall 
she  managed  to  make  her  garden  and  her  labor 
provide  for  all  family  expenses,  saving  what  was 
left  of  the  four  hundred  after  paying  all  debts,  for 
winter  need.  Moreover,  she  stored  away  in  cellar 
and  attic  enough  of  the  products  of  the  garden  to 
be  of  great  help  also. 

Mrs.  Allen  did  recover  her  usual  health,  and  also 
her  usual  modes  of  thought  and  feeling.  The  men- 
tal and  moral  habits  of  a  life-time  are  not  readily 
changed.  Often  and  earnestly  did  Edith  talk  with 
her  mother,  but  with  few  evidences  of  the  result 
she  longed  to  see. 

Mrs.  Allen's  condition,  in  view  of  the  truth,  was 
the  most  hopeless  one  of  all.  She  saw  only  her 
preconceived  ideas,  and  not  the  truth  itself.  One 
day  she  said,  with  some  irritation,  to  Edith,  who 
was  pleading  with  her, 

"  Do  you  think  I  am  a  heathen  ?  Of  course,  I 
believe  the  Bible.  Of  course,  I  believe  in  Jesus 
Christ.  I  have  been  a  member  of  the  church  ever 
since  I  was  sixteen." 


41 6  WffA  T  CAN  SHE  DO? 

Edith  sighed,  and  thought,  "  Only  He  who  can 
satisfy  her  need,  can  reveal  it  to  her." 

Poor  Mrs.  Allen.  With  the  strange  infatuation 
of  a  worldly  mind,  she  was  turning  to  it,  and  it 
alone,  for  hope  and  solace.  Untaught  by  the 
wretched  experience  of  the  past,  she  was  led  to 
enter  upon  a  new  and  similar  scheme  for  the  aggran- 
dizement of  her  family,  as  will  be  explained  in  an- 
other chapter. 

Laura  regained  her  strength  somewhat,  and  was 
able  to  relieve  Edith  of  the  care  of  her  mother,  and 
the  lighter  duties  of  the  house.  Her  faith  de- 
veloped like  that  shy,  delicate  blossom,  called  the 
"  wind-flower,"  easily  shaken,  and  yet  with  a  cer- 
tain hardiness  and  power  to  live  and  thrive  m 
sterile  places. 

Edith  and  Mrs.  Lacey  were  eventually  received 
Snto  the  church  that  Malcom  attended,  and,  after 
the  simple  service,  they  took  dinner  with  the  old 
Scotchman  and  his  wife.  Malcom  seemed  hardly 
"  in  the  body  "  all  day. 

"  My  heart's  abloom,"  he  said,  "  wi'  a'  the  sweet 
posies  that  God  ever  made  blush  when  he  looked  at 
them  the  first  time,  an'  ye  seem  the  sweetest  o' 
them  a',  Miss  Edith.  Ah,  but  the  Gude  Husband- 
man gathered  a  fair  blossom  the  day." 

"  Now,  Mr.  McTrump,"  said  Edith,  reproachfully, 
but  with  a  face  like  Malcom's  posies,  "  you  shouldn't 
give  compliments  on  Sunday."  For  Arden  and 
Rose  were  present  also,  and  Edith  thought  "  such 
foolish  'vords  will  only  increase  his  infatuation." 


EDITH* !>  AND  ARDEN'S  FRIENDSHIP.         417 

"  Weel,"  said  Malcom,  scratching  his  head,  in  his 
perplexed  effort  at  apology,  "  I  wud  na  mak  ye  vain, 
nor  hurt  ye're  conscience,  but  it  kind  o*  slipit  out 
afore  I  could  stop  it." 

In  the  laugh  that  followed  Malcom's  explanation 
Edith  felt  that  matters  had  not  been  helped  much, 
and  she  adroitly  turned  the  conversation. 

Public  opinion,  from  being  at  first  very  bitter  and 
scornful  against  the  Aliens,  gradually  began  to  soften. 
One  after  another,  as  they  recognized  Edith's 
patient,  determined  effort  to  do  right,  began  to  give 
her  the  credit  and  the  respect  to  which  she  was  en- 
titled. Little  acts  and  tokens  of  kindly  feeling  be- 
came more  frequent,  and  were  like  glints  of  sunlight 
on  her  shadowed  path.  But  the  great  majority  felt 
that  they  could  have  no  associations  with  such  as 
the  Aliens,  and  completely  ignored  them. 

In  her  church  relations,  Edith  and  Mrs.  Lacey 
found  increasing  satisfaction.  Many  of  its  humble, 
and  some  of  its  more  influential  members,  treated 
them  with  much  kindness  and  sympathy,  and  they 
realized  more  and  more  that  there  are  good,  kind 
people  in  the  world,  if  you  look  in  the  right  way 
and  right  places  for  them.  The  Rev.  Mr.  Knox 
was  a  faithful  preacher  and  pastor,  and  if  his  ser- 
mons were  a  little  dry  and  doctrinal  at  times,  they 
were  as  sound  and  sweet  as  a  nut.  Moreover,  both 
Edith  and  Mrs.  Lacey  were  sadly  deficient  in  the 
doctrines,  neither  having  ever  had  any  religious  in- 
struction, and  they  listened  with  the  grave,  earnest 
interest  of  those  desiring  to  be  fed. 


41 8  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOt 

Mrs.  Groody  re-connected  herself  with  her  old 
church.  "  I  want  to  go  where  I  can  shout, '  Glory ! '  " 
she  said. 

Rose  but  faintly  sympathized  with  her  mother's 
feelings.  Her  restless,  ambitious  spirit  turned  long- 
ingly toward  the  world.  It's  attractions  she  could 
understand,  but  not  those  of  faith.  Through  her 
father's  evil  habits,  and  Arden's  poor  farming,  the 
pressure  of  poverty  rested  heavier  and  heavier  on 
the  family,  and  she  had  about  resolved  to  go  to 
New  York  and  find  employment  in  some  store. 

Arden  rarely  went  to  church,  but  read  at  home. 
He  was  somewhat  skeptical  in  regard  to  the  Bible  ; 
not  that  he  had  ever  carefully  examined  either  it  or 
its  evidences,  but  he  had  read  much  of  the  preva- 
lent semi-infidelity,  and  was  a  little  conceited  over 
his  independent  thinking.  Then,  in  a  harsh,  sweep- 
ing cynicism,  he  utterly  detested  church  people, 
calling  them  the  "  holy  sect  of  the  Pharisees." 

"  But  they  are  not  all  such,"  his  mother  would 
say. 

"  Oh,  no,"  he  would  reply ;  "there  are  some  sin- 
cere ones,  of  course ;  but  I  think  they  would  be 
better  out  than  in  such  a  company  of  hypocrites." 

But  as  he  saw  Edith's  sincerity,  and  learned  of 
her  purpose  to  unite  with  the  church,  he  kept  these 
views  more  and  more  in  the  background  ;  but  he 
had  too  much  respect  for  her's  and  his  mother's 
faith  to  go  with  them  to  what  they  regarded  as  a 
sacred  place,  from  merely  the  personal  motive  of 
being  near  Edith. 


EDITH'S  AND  ARDEN'S  FRIENDSHIP.      4^ 

One  day  Mrs.  Lacey  and  Edith  walked  down  to  the 
evening  prayer-meeting.  Arden,  who  had  business 
in  the  village,  was  to  call  for  them  at  its  close ;  as 
they  were  walking  home  Edith  suddenly  asked  him, 

"  Why  don't  you  go  to  church  ?  " 

"  I  don't  like  the  people  I  meet  there." 

"  What  have  you  against  them  ?  " 

"Well,  there  is  Mr.  Hard.  He  is  one  of  the  Mights 
and  pillars ;'  and  he  would  have  sold  the  house  over 
your  head,  if  you  had  not  paid  him.  He  can  '  de- 
vour a  widow's  house '  as  well  as  they  of  olden 
time." 

"That  is  not  the  question,"  said  the  practical 
Edith,  earnestly.  "What  have  you  to  do  with  Mr. 
Hard,  or  he  with  you?  Does  he  propose — is  he 
able  to  save  you  ?  The  true  question  is,  what  have 
you  got  against  Jesus  Christ?" 

"  Well,  really,  Miss  Edith,  I  can  have  nothing 
against  Him.  Both  history  and  legend  unite  in 
presenting  Him  as  one  of  the  purest  and  noblest  of 
men.  But  pardon  me  if  I  say  in  all  honesty  that  I 
cannot  quite  accept  your  beliefs  in  regard  to  Him 
and  the  Bible  in  general.  A  man  can  hardly  be  a 
man  without  exercising  the  right  of  independent 
thought.  I  cannot  take  a  book  called  the  Bible  for 
granted." 

"  But,"  asked  Edith  keenly,  "  are  you  not  taking 
other  books  for  granted?  Answer  me  truly,  Mr. 
Lacey,  have  you  carefully  and  patiently  investigated 
this  subject,  not  only  on  the  side  of  your  skeptical 
writers,  but  on  God's  side  also.  He  has  plenty  of 


420  WHAT  CAN  SHE  D01 

facts,  as  well  as  the  infidels,  and  my  rich  lasting 
rational  spiritual  experience  is  as  much  a  fact  as  that 
stone  there,  and  a  good  deal  higher  and  better  one, 
I  think." 

Arden  was  silent  for  some  little  time,  and  they 
could  see  in  the  moonlight  that  his  face  was  very 
grave  and  thoughtful.  At  last  he  said  in  a  low  tone, 
as  if  it  had  been  wrung  from  him, 

"  Miss  Allen,  to  be  honest  with  you  and  myself, 
I  have  never  given  the  subject  such  a  fair  examina- 
tion." After  a  moment  he  continued,  "  Even  if  I 
became  convinced  that  all  were  true,  I  might  still 
remain  at  home,  for  I  could  find  far  more  advantage 
in  reading  books,  or  the  Bible  itself,  than  from  Mr 
Knox's  dry  sermons." 

"I  think  you  are  wrong,"  said  Edith,  gently  but 
firmly.  "  Granting  the  premise,  you  admitted  a 
moment  ago  that  Christ  was  one  of  the  purest  and 
noblest  of  men,  you  surely,  with  your  chivalric 
instincts,  would  say  that  such  a  man  ought  to  be 
imitated." 

"Yes,"  said  Arden,  "and  He  denounced  the 
Pharisees." 

"  And  He  worshipped  with  them  also,"  said 
Edith  quickly.  He  went  to  the  temple  with  the 
others.  What  was  there  to  interest  him  in  the  dreary 
forlorn  little  synagogue  at  Nazareth,  and  yet  He 
was  there  with  the  regularity  of  the  Sabbath.  It 
was  the  best  form  of  faith  and  worship  then  exist- 
ing, and  He  sustained  it  by  every  means  in  Hi3 
power,  till  He  could  give  the  people  something  bet- 


EDITH'S  AND  ARDEATS  FRIENDSHIP.         42! 

ter,  Suppose  all  the  churches  in  this  place  were 
closed,  not  one  in  a  hundred  would  or  could  read 
the  books  you  refer  to.  If  your  example  was  fol- 
lowed they  would  be  closed.  As  far  as  your  ex- 
ample goes  it  tends  to  close  them.  I  have  heard 
Mr,  Knox  say,  that  wherever  Christian  worship  and 
the  Christian  Sabbath  is  not  observed,  society 
rapidly  deteriorates.  Is  it  not  true  ?  " 

They  had  stopped  at  Edith's  gate.  Arden 
averted  his  face  for  a  moment,  then  turning  toward 
Edith  he  gave  her  his  hand,  saying  in  a  low  tone  : 

"  Yes,  it  is  true,  and  a  true,  faithful  friend  you 
have  been  to  me  to-night.  I  admit  myself  van- 
quished." 

Edith  gave  his  hand  a  cordial  pressure,  saying 
earnestly,  "  You  are  not  vanquished  by  the  young 
ignorant  girl,  Edith  Allen,  but  by  the  truth  that 
will  yet  vanquish  the  world." 

After  that  Arden  went  regularly  with  them  to 
church,  and  tried  to  give  sincere  attention  to  the 
service,  but  his  uncurbed  fancy  was  wandering  to 
the  ends  of  the  earth  most  of  the  time  ;  or  his 
thoughts  were  dwelling  in  rapt  attention  on  Edith. 
She,  after  all,  was  the  only  object  of  his  faith  and 
worship,  though  he  had  a  growing  intellectual  con- 
viction that  her  faith  was  true. 

And  so  the  months  passed  into  autumn,  but  with 
the  nicest  sense  of  honor  he  refrained  from  word  or 
deed  that  would  remind  Edith  that  he  was  her 
lover.  She  became  greatly  attached  to  him,  and 
he  seemed  almost  like  a  brother  to  her.  She  found 


4  ?2  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DOf 

increasing  pleasure  in  his  society,  for  Anlen,  aftef 
the  restraint  of  his  diffidence  was  banished,  could 
talk  well,  and  he  opened  to  her  the  rich  treasures 
of  his  reading,  and  with  almost  a  poet's  fancy  and 
power  pictured  to  her  the  storied  past. 

To  both  herself  and  Mrs.  Lacey  life  grew  sunnier 
and  sweeter.  But  they  each  had  a  heavy  burden 
on  their  hearts,  which  they  daily  brought  to  the  feet 
of  the  Compassionate  One.  They  united  in  praying 
for  Mrs.  Lacey's  husband,  and  for  Zell ;  and  their 
strong  faith  and  love  would  take  no  denial.  But,  as 
Laura  had  said,  the  silence  of  the  grave  seemed  to 
have  swallowed  lost  Zell. 


CHAPTER   XXXI. 

ZELL. 


ii 


AND  the  silence  of  the  grave  "  ought  to  swal- 
low such  as  poor  Zell  had  become,  is,  per- 
haps, the  thought  of  some.  All  reference  to  her 
and  her  class  should  be  suppressed. 

We  firmly  say,  No !  If  so,  the  New  Testament 
must  be  suppressed.  The  Divine  Teacher  spoke 
plainly  both  of  the  sin  and  the  sinner.  He  had 
scathing  denunciation  for  the  one,  and  compassion 
and  mercy  for  the  other.  Shall  we  enforce  His 
teachings  against  all  other  forms  of  evil,  and  not 
against  this  deadliest  one  of  all — and  that,  too,  in 
the  laxity  and  wide  demoralization  of  our  age,  when 
temptation  lurks  on  every  hand,  and  parents  are 
often  sleepless  with  just  anxiety  _? 

Evil  is  active,  alluring,  suggesting,  insinuating 
itself  when  least  expected,  and  many  influences  are 
at  work,  with  the  full  approval  of  society,  to  poison 
forever  all  pure  thoughts.  And  temptation  is  sure 
to  come  at  first  as  an  angel  of  light, 

There  is  no  safety  save  in  solemn  words  of  warn- 
ing, the  wholesome  terror  which  knowledge  inspires, 
the  bracing  of  principle,  and  the  ennobling  of  Chris- 
tian faith.  There  are  too  many  incarnate  fiends 


424  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DO? 

who  will  take  advantage  of  the  innocence  of  igno- 
rance. 

Zell  is  not  in  her  grave.  She  is  sinning,  but  more 
sinned  against.  He  who  said  to  one  like  her,  of  old, 
"  Her  sins,  which  are  many,  are  forgiven,"  loves  her 
still,  and  Edith  is  praying  for  her.  The  grave  can- 
not close  over  her  yet. 

But  as  we  look  upon  this  long-lost  one,  as  she  re- 
clines on  a  sofa  in  Van  Dam's  luxurious  apart- 
ments, as  we  see  her  temples  throbbing  with  pain, 
and  that  her  cheeks  are  flushed  and  feverish,  it 
would  seem  that  the  grave  might  soon  hide  her  from 
a  contemptuous  and  vindictive  world. 

Her  head  does  ache  sadly,  it  seems  bursting  with 
pain  ;  but  her  heart  aches  with  a  bitterer  anguish. 
Zell  had  too  fine  a  nature  to  sin  brutally  and  unfeel- 
ingly. Her  betrayer's  treachery  wounded  her  more 
deeply  than  he  could  understand.  Even  her  first 
strong  love  for  him  could  not  bridge  the  chasm  of 
guilt  to  which  he  led  her,  and  her  passionate  nature 
and  remorse  often  caused  her  to  turn  upon  him 
with  such  scathing  reproaches  that  even  he,  in  his 
hardihood,  trembled. 

Knowing  how  proud  and  high-strung  she  was,  he 
feared  to  reveal  his  treachery  in  New  York,  a 
locality  with  which  she  was  familiar;  so  he  said  that 
very  important  business  called  him  at  once  to  Bos- 
ton, a  city  where  he  had  very  few  acquaintances* 
Zell  reluctantly  acquiesced  to  this  further  journey. 
He  meant  to  register  in  an  assumed  name,  but  the 
landlord  said  to  him  as  he  entered  the  office, 


ZELL.  425 

"Why,  Van  Dam,  how  are  you  ?" 

"Where  have  you  seen  me?"  was  the  gruff 
reply. 

"  Why,  don't  you  remember?  We  played  poker 
together  all  the  way  from  Buffalo  to  Albany,  and 
you  lightened  my  pocket-book  wofully  too.  This  is 
your  wife,  I  suppose." 

"  Yes,"  said  Van  Dam,  thinking,  "  It  will  attract 
less  attention  and  be  safest." 

"  Well,  I'm  glad  to  see  you — can  give  you  a  good 
room.  So  register,  and  I  will  get  a  little  of  my  lost 
money  back,"  and  the  host  slapped  him  on  the  back 
with  a  hearty  laugh. 

Van  Dam  with  a  frown  wrote, 

"  Guilliam  Van  Dam  and  wife." 

By  no  more  sacred  or  gracious  ceremony  than 
this  did  he  ever  reward  her  trust  and  love.  They 
jaunted  about  in  the  North  and  West  through  the 
summer  and  autumn,  and  now  have  but  recently 
returned  to  New  York. 

With  a  wild  terror  she  saw  that  his  passion  for 
her  was  waning.  Therefore  her  reproaches  and 
threats  became  at  times  almost  terrific,  and  again 
her  servile  entreaties  were  even  more  pitiable  and 
dreadful,  in  view  of  what  a  true  wife's  position  and 
right  ought  to  be.  He,  wearying  of  her  fierce  and 
alternating  moods,  and  selfishly  thinking  of  his  own 
ease  and  comfort,  as  was  ever  the  case,  had  resolved 
to  throw  her  off"  at  the  first  opportunity. 

But  retribution  for  both  was  near.  The  small 
pox  was  almost  epidemic  in  the  city :  Zell's  silk  had 


426  WUA  T  CAN  *IIL  DO? 

swept  against  a  beggar's  infected  rags,  and  fourteen 
days  later  appeared  the  fatal  symptoms. 

And  truly  she  is  weary  and  heart-sick  this  after- 
noon. She  never  remembered  feeling  so  ill.  The 
thought  of  death  appalled  her.  She  felt,  as  never 
before,  that  she  wanted  some  one  to  love  and  take 
care  of  her. 

Van  Dam  entered,  and  said,  rather  roughly, 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  " 

"  I'm  sick,"  said  Zell,  faintly. 

He  muttered  an  oath. 

She  arose  from  the  sofa  and  tottered  to  his  easy 
chair,  knelt,  and  clasped  his  knees. 

"  Guilliam,"  she  pleaded,  "  I  am  very  sick.  I  have 
a  feeling  that  I  shall  die.  Won't  you  marry  me  ? 
Won't  you  take  care  of  your  poor  little  Zell,  that 
loved  you  so  well  as  to  leave  all  for  you  ?  Perhaps 
I  won't  burden  you  much  longer,  but,  if  I  do  get 
well,  I  will  be  your  patient  slave,  if  you  will  only 
marry  me ;  "  and  the  tears  poured  over  the  hot, 
feverish  cheeks,  that  they  could  not  cool. 

His  only  reply  was  to  ask,  with  some  irritation, 

"  How  do  you  feel  ?  " 

"  Oh,  my  head  aches,  my  bones  ache,  every  part 
of  my  body  aches,  but  my  heart  aches  worst  of  all. 
You  can  ease  that,  Guilliam.  In  the  name  of  God's 
mercy,  won't  you  ?  " 

A  sudden  thought  caused  the  coward's  face  to 
grow  white  with  fear.  "  I  must  have  a  doctor  see 
you,"  was  his  only  reply  to  her  appeal,  and  he  pass 
ed  hastily  out. 


ZELL.  427 

Zcll  felt  that  a  blow  would  have  been  better  than 
liis  indifference,  and  she  crawled  back  to  her  couch. 
A  little  later,  she  was  conscious  that  a  physician 
was  feeling  her  pulse,  and  examining  her  symptoms. 
After  he  was  gone  she  had  strength  enough  to  take 
off  her  jewelry  and  rings — all,  save  one  solitaire  dia- 
mond, that  her  father  had  given  her.  The  rest 
seemed  to  oppress  her  with  their  weight.  She  then 
threw  herself  on  the  bed. 

She  was  next  conscious  that  some  one  was  lifting 
her  up.  She  roused  for  a  moment,  and  stared 
around.  There  were  several  strange  faces. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  What  are  you  going  to  do 
with  me  ?  "  she  asked,  in  a  thick  voice,  and  a  vague 
terror. 

"  I  am  sorry,  Miss,"  said  one  of  the  men,  in  an 
official  tone  ;  "  but  you  have  the  small-pox,  and  we 
must  take  you  to  the  hospital." 

She  gave  one  shriek  of  horror.  A  hand  was 
placed  over  her  mouth.  She  murmured  faintly : 

"  Guilliam — help  !  "  and  then,  under  the  effects 
of  disease  and  fear,  became  partially  unconscious  ; 
but  her  hand  clenched,  and  with  some  instinct  hard 
to  understand,  remained  so,  over  the  diamond  ring 
that  was  her  father's  gift. 

She  was  conscious  of  riding  in  something  hard 
over  the  stony  street,  for  the  jolting  hurt  her  cruelly, 
She  was  conscious  of  the  sound  of  water,  for  she 
tried  to  throw  herself  into  it,  that  it  might  cool  her 
fever.  She  was  conscious  of  reaching  some  place, 
and  then  she  felt  as  if  she  had  no  rest  for  many 


428  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DO  t 

days,  and  yet  was  not  awake.  But  through  it  alt 
she  kept  her  hand  closed  on  her  father's  gift.  At 
times  it  seemed  to  her  that  some  one  was  trying  fr> 
take  it  off,  but  she  instinctively  struggled  and  cried 
out,  and  the  hand  was  withdrawn. 

At  last  one  night  she  seemed  to  really  wake  and 
come  to  herself.  She  opened  her  eyes  and  looked 
timidly  around  the  dim  ward.  All  was  strange  and 
unaccountable.  She  feared  that  she  was  in  another 
world.  But  as  she  raised  her  hand  to  her  head,  as 
if  to  clear  away  the  mist  of  uncertainty,  a  sparkle 
from  the  diamond  caught  her  eye.  For  a  long 
time  she  stared  vacantly  at  it,  with  the  weak,  vague 
feeling  that  in  some  sense  it  might  be  a  clue.  Its 
faint  lustre  was  like  the  glimmer  of  a  star  through 
a  rift  in  the  clouds  to  a  lost  traveler.  Its  familiar 
light  and  position  reminds  him  of  home,  and  by  its 
ray  he  guesses  in  what  direction  to  move  ;  so  the 
crystallized  light  upon  her  finger  threw  its  faint 
glimmer  into  the  past,  and  by  its  help  Zell's  weak 
mind  groped  its  way  down  from  the  hour  it  was 
given  to  the  moment  when  she  became  partially 
unconscious  in  Van  Dam's  apartments.  But  the 
word  small-pox  was  burned  into  her  brain,  and  she 
surmised  that  she  was  in  a  hospital. 

At  last  a  woman  passed.     Zell  feebly  called  her 
"  What  do  you  want  ?  "  said  a  rather  gruff  voice. 
"  I  want  to  write  a  letter." 
"  You  can't.     It's  against  the  rules." 
"  I   must,"   pleaded   Zell.     "  Oh,  as   you   are   a 
woman,  and  hope  in  God's  mercy,  don't  refuse  me." 


ZELL. 


4*9 


"  Can't  break  the  rules,"  said  the  woman,  and  sh« 
was  about  to  pass  on. 

"  Stop  !  n  said  Zell,  in  a  whisper.  "  See  there," 
and  she  flashed  the  diamond  upon  her,  "  I'll  give 
you  that  if  you'll  promise  before  God  to  send  a  let- 
ter for  me.  It  would  take  you  many  months  to 
earn  the  value  of  that." 

The  woman  was  a  part  of  the  city  government, 
so  she  acted  characteristically.  She  brought  Zell 
writing  materials  and  a  bit  of  candle,  saying : 

"  Be  quick!" 

With  her  poor,  stiff,  diseased  hand,  Zell  wrote  : 

"  GuiLLlAM  : — You  cannot  know  where  I  am. 
You  cannot  know  what  has  happened.  You  could 
not  be  such  a  fiend  as  to  cast  me  off  and  send  me 
here  to  die — and  die  I  shall.  The  edge  of  the  grave 
seems  crumbling  under  me  as  I  write.  If  you  have 
a  spark  of  love  for  me.  come  and  see  me  before  I 
die.  Oh,  Guilliam,  Guilliam!  what  a  heaven  of  a 
home  I  would  have  made  you,  if  you  had  only  mar- 
ried me.  It  would  have  been  my  whole  life  to  make 
you  happy.  I  said  bitter  words  to  you — forgive 
them.  We  both  have  sinned — can  God  forgive  us  ? 

I  will  not  believe  you  know  what  has   happened. 
You  are  grieving  for  me — looking  for  me.     They 
took  me  away  while  you  were  gone.     Come  and  see 
mo  before  I  die.    Good-bye     I'm  writing  in  the  dark 
— I'm  dying  in  the  dark — my  soul  is  in  the  dark — 
I'm  going  away  in  the  dark — where,  O  God,  where? 

"  Your  poor,  little  "  ZELL." 

II  SMALL-POX  HOSPITAL  (I  don't  know  date)." 


43O  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOt 

Poor,  poor  Zell!  Like  to  a  tempest-tossed  one 
of  old,  "  sun  moon,  and  stars  "  had  long  been  hid- 
den. 

Almost  fainting  with  weakness,  she  sealed  and 
directed  the  letter,  drew  off  the  ring,  pressed  it  to 
her  lips,  and  then  turned  her  eyes,  unnaturally  large 
and  bright,  on  the  woman  waiting  at  her  side,  and 
said : 

"  Look  at  me !  Promise  me  you  will  see  that 
this  letter  is  delivered.  Remember,  I  am  going  to 
die.  If  you  ever  hope  for  an  hour's  peace, 
promise !  " 

"  I  promise,"  said  the  woman  solemnly,  for  she 
was  as  superstitious  as  avaricious,  and  though  she 
had  no  hesitancy  in  breaking  the  rules  and  taking  a 
bribe,  she  would  not  have  dared  for  her  life  to  have 
risked  treachery  to  a  girl,  whom  she  believed  dying. 

Zell  gave  her  the  ring  and  the  letter,  and  sank 
back  for  the  time  unconscious. 

The  woman  had  her  means  of  communication 
with  the  city,  and  before  many  hours  elapsed  the 
letter  was  on  its  way. 

Van  Dam  was  in  a  state  of  nervous  fear  till  the 
fourteen  days  passed,  and  then  he  felt  that  he  was 
safe.  He  had  his  rooms  thoroughly  fumigated,  and 
was  reassured  by  his  physicians  saying  daily,  "  There 
was  not  much  danger  of  her  giving  you  the  disease 
in  its  first  stage.  She  is  probably  dead  by  this 
time." 

But  the  wheels  of  life  seemed  to  grow  heavier  and 
more  clogged  every  day.  He  was  fast  getting 


ZELL.  431 

down  to  the  dregs,  and  now  almost  ever}'  pleasure 
palled  upon  his  jaded  taste.  At  one  time  it  seemed 
that  Zell  might  so  infuse  her  vigorous  young  life 
and  vivacity  into  his  waning  years  that  his  last  days 
would  be  his  best.  And  this  might  have  been  the 
case,  if  he  had  reformed  his  evil  life  and  dealt  with 
her  as  a  true  man.  In  her  strong  and  exceptional 
love,  considering  their  difference  in  age,  there  were 
great  possibilities  of  good  for  both.  But  he  had 
foully  perverted  the  last  best  gift  of  his  life,  and 
even  his  blunted  moral  sense  was  awakening  to  the 
truth. 

!  "  Curse  it  all,"  he  muttered,  late  one  morning, 
"  perhaps  I  had  better  have  married  her.  I  hoped 
so  much  from  her,  and  she  has  been  nothing  but  a 
source  of  trouble  and  danger.  I  wonder  if  she  is 
dead." 

i  He  had  been  out  very  late  the  night  before,  and 
had  played  heavily,  but  not  with  his  usual  skill.  He 
had  kept  muttering  grim  oaths  against  his  luck,  and 
drinking  deeper  and  deeper  till  a  friend  had  half 
forced  him  away.  And  now,  much  shaken  by  the 
night's  debauch,  depressed  by  his  heavy  losses,  con- 
science, that  crouches  like  a  tiger  in  every  bad 
man's  soul,  and  waits  to  rush  from  its  lair  and  rend, 
in  the  long  hours — the  long  eternity  of  weakness  and 
memory — already  had  its  fangs  in  his  guilty  heart. 

Long  and  bitterly  he  thought,  with  a  iiovvn  rest- 
ing like  night  on  his  heavy  brow.  The  servant 
brought  him  a  dainty  breakfast,  but  he  sullenly 
motioned  it  away.  He  had  wronged  his  digestive 


432  WHAT  CAN  SUE  DOt 

powers  so  greatly  the  night  before  that  even  brandy 
was  repugnant  to  him,  and  he  leaned  heavily  and 
wearily  back  in  his  chair,  a  prey  to  remorse. 

He  was  in  just  the  right  physical  condition  to  take 
a  contagion. 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  the  servant 
entered,  bringing  him  a  letter,  saying,  "  This  was 
just  left  here  for  ye,  sir." 

"A  dun,"  thought  he,  languidly,  and  he  laid  it 
unopened  on  the  stand  beside  him. 

It  was ;  and  from  one  whom  he  owed  a  repara- 
tion he  could  never  make,  though  he  paid  with  his 
life. 

With  his  eyes  closed,  he  still  leaned  back  in  a 
dull,  painful  lethargy.  A  faint,  disagreeable  odor 
gradually  pervaded  the  room,  and  at  last  attracted 
his  attention.  The  luxurious  sybarite  could  not 
help  the  stings  of  conscience,  the  odor  he  might. 
He  grew  restless,  and  looked  around. 

Zeli's  letter  caught  his  attention.  "  Might  as 
well  see  who  it's  from,"  he  muttered.  Weakness, 
pain,  and  emotion  had  so  changed  Zeli's  familiar 
hand,  that  he  did  not  recognize  it. 

But,  as  he  opened  and  read,  his  eyes  dilated  with 
horror.  It  seemed  like  a  dead  hand  grasping  him 
out  of  the  darkness:  But  a  dreadful  fascination 
compelled  him  to  read  every  line,  and  re-read  them, 
till  they  seemed  burned  into  his  memory.  At  last, 
by  a  desperate  effort,  he  broke  the  strong  spell  hei 
words  had  placed  upon  him,  and,  starting  up,  ex- 
claimed, 


ZELL.  433 

"  Go  to  her,  in  that  pest-house  !  I  would  see  her 
dead  a  thousand  times  first.  I  hope  she  is  dead, 
for  she  is  the  torment  of  my  life.  What  is  it  that 
smells  so  queer?" 

His  eyes  again  rested  on  the  letter.  A  suspicion 
crossed  his  mind.  He  carried  the  letter  to  his 
nose,  and  then  started  violently,  uttering  awful 
oaths. 

"  She  has  sent  the  contagion  directly  to  me,"  he 
groaned,  and  he  threw  poor  Zell's  appeal  on  the 
grate.  It  burned  with  a  faint,  sickly  odor.  Then, 
as  the  day  was  raw  and  windy,  a  sudden  gust  down 
the  chimney  blew  it  all  out  into  the  room,  and 
scattered  it  in  ashes,  like  Zell's  hopes,  around  his 
feet. 

A  superstitious  horror,  that  made  his  flesh  creep 
and.  hair  rise,  took  possession  of  him,  and  hastily 
gathering  a  few  necessary  things,  he  rushed  out 
into  the  chill  air,  and  made  his  way  to  a  large  hotel. 
He  wanted  to  be  in  a  crowd.  He  wanted  the  hard, 
material  world's  noise  and  bustle  around  him.  He 
wanted  to  hear  men  talking  about  gold  and  stocks, 
and  the  gossip  of  the  town — anything  that  would 
make  living  on  seem  a  natural,  possible  matter  of 
course. 

But  men's  voices  sounded  strange  and  unfamiliar, 
and  the  real  world  seemed  like  that  which  mocks  us 
in  our  dreams.  Mingling  with  all  he  saw  and  heard 
were  Zell's  despairing  looks  and  Zell's  despairing 
words.  He  wrapped  himself  in  his  great  coat,  he 
drank  frequent  and  fiery  potations,  he  hovered 
19 


434  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DOt 

around  the  registers,  but  nothing  could  take  away 
the  chill  at  his  heart.  He  tossed  feverishly  aii 
night.  His  sudden  exposure  to  the  raw  wind  in  his 
heated,  excited  condition  caused  a  severe  cold. 
But  he  would  not  give  up.  He  dared  not  stay  alone 
in  his  roo.n,  and  so  crept  down  to  the  public  haunts 
of  the  hotel.  But  his  flushed  cheeks  and  strange 
manner  attracted  attention.  As  the  days  passed,  he 
grew  worse,  and  the  proprietor  of  the  house  said, 

"  You  are  ill,  you  must  go  to  bed." 

But  he  would  not.  There  was  nothing  that  he 
seemed  to  dread  so  much  as  being  alone.  But  the 
guests  began  to  grow  afraid  of  him.  There  was 
general  and  wide-spread  fear  of  the  small-pox  in 
the  city,  and  for  some  reason,  it  began  to  be  associa- 
ted with  his  illness.  As  the  suspicion  was  whispered 
around,  all  shrank  from  him.  The  proprietor  had 
him  examined  at  once  by  a  physician.  It  was  the 
fatal  fourteenth  day,  and  the  dreaded  symptoms  were 
apparent. 

"  Have  you  no  friends,  no  home  to  which  you  can 
go  ?  "  he  was  asked. 

"  No,"  he  groaned,  while  the  thought  pierced  his 
soul.  "  She  would  have  made  me  one  and  taken 
care  of  me  in  it."  But  he  pleaded,  "  For  God's 
sake,  don't  send  me  away." 

"  I  must, "said  the  proprietor,  frightened  himself. 
"  The  law  requires  it,  and  your  presence  here  would 
empty  my  house  in  an  hour." 

So,  in  the  dusk,  like  poor  Zell,  he  was  smuggled 
down  a  back  stairway,  and  sent  to  the  "pest-house" 


ZELL.  435 

also,  he  groaning  and  crying  with  terror  all  the 
way. 

Zell  did  not  die.  Her  vigorous  constitution  ral- 
lied, and  she  rapidly  regained  strength.  But  with 
strength  and  power  of  thought,  came  the  certainty 
to  her  mind  of  Van  Dam's  utter  and  final  abandon- 
ment of  her.  She  felt  that  all  the  world  would  now 
be  against  her,  and  that  she  would  be  driven  from 
every  safe  and  pleasant  path.  The  thought  of  taking 
her  shame  to  her  home  was  a  horror  to  her,  and  she 
felt  sure  that  Edith  would  spurn  her  from  the  door. 
At  first  she  wept  bitterly  and  despairingly,  and 
wished  she  had  died.  But  gradually  she  grew  hard, 
reckless,  and  cruel  under  her  wrong,  and  her  every 
thought  of  Van  Dam  was  a  curse. 

The  woman  who  helped  her  to  write  the  letter 
greatly  startled  her  one  day,  by  saying, 

"  Ther's  a  man  in  the  men's  ward  who  in  his 
ravin'  speaks  of  you." 

"  Could  he,  in  just  retribution,  have  been  sent 
here  also  ? "  she  thought.  -  Pleading  relationship, 
she  was  admitted  to  see  him.  He  shuddered  as  he 
saw  her  advancing,  with  stony  face  and  eyes  in 
which  glared  relentless  hate. 

"  Curse  you  !"  he  muttered,  feebly,  with  his  parched 
lips.  "  Go  away,  living  or  dead,  I  know  not  which  you 
are-;  but  I  know  it  was  through  you  I  came  here  I " 

Her  only  answer  was  a  mocking  smile. 

The  doctor  came  and  examined  his  symptoms. 

"Will  he  get  well?'1  she  asked,  following  him 
away  a  short  distance. 


436  WIIA  T'CAN  SHE  DO ? 

"  No, '  said  the  physician.     "  He  will  die." 

Her  cheek  blanched  for  a  moment ;  but  from  her 
eyes  glowed  a  deadly  gleam  of  satisfaction. 

'  What  did  he  say?"  whispered  Van  Dam. 

He  says  you  will  die,"  she  answered,  in  a  stony 
voice.  "  You  see,  I  am  better  than  you  were.  You 
would  not  come  to  me  for  even  one  poor  moment. 
You  left  me  to  die  alone ;  but  I  will  stay  and  watch 
with  you." 

"  Oh,  go  away  !  "  groaned  Van  Dam. 

"  I  couldn't  be  so  heartless,"  she  said,  in  a  mock- 
ing tone.  "  You  need  dying  consolation.  I  want 
to  tell  you,  Guilliam,  what  was  in  my  mind  the 
night  I  left  all  for  you.  I  did  doubt  you  a  little. 
That  is  where  I  sinned ;  but  I  shall  only  suffer  for 
that  through  all  eternity,"  she  said,  with  a  reckless 
laugh  that  chilled  his  soul.  "  But  then,  I  hoped,  I 
felt  almost  sure,  you  would  marry  me  ;  and,  oh, 
what  a  heaven  of  a  home  I  purposed  to  make  you. 
If  you  had  only  let  even  a  magistrate  say,  '  I  pro- 
nounce you  man  and  wife,'  I  would  have  been  your 
patient  slave.  I  would  have  kissed  away  even  your 
headaches,  and  had  you  ten  contagions,  they  should 
not  have  brought  you  here,  for  I  would  have  taken 
care  of  you  and  nursed  you  back  to  life." 

"  Go  away  I  "  groaned  Van  Dam,  with  more 
energy. 

"  Guilliam,"  she  said  taking  his  hand,  which  shud- 
dered at  her  touch,  "  we  might  have  had  a  happy 
little  home  by  this  time.  We  might  have  learned  to 
live  a  good  life  in  this  world  and  have  prepared  for  a 


ZELL.  437 

better  one  in  the  next.  Little  children  might  have 
put  their  soft  arms  around  your  neck,  and  with  their 
innocent  kisses  banished  the  memory  and  the 
power  of  the  evil  past.  Oh,"  she  gasped,  '  how 
happy  we  might  have  been,  and  mother,  Edith,  and 
Laura  would  have  smiled  upon  us.  But  what  is 
now  our  condition  ? "  she  said  bitterly,  her  grip 
upon  his  hand  becoming  hard  and  fierce.  "  You 
have  made  me  a  tigress.  I  must  cower  and  hide 
through  life  like  a  wild  beast  in  a  jungle.  And  you 
are  dying  and  going  to  hell,"  she  hissed  in  his  ear, 
"  and  by-and-bye,  when  I  get  to  be  an  old  ugly  hag, 
I  will  come  and  torment  you  there  forever  and  for- 
ever." 

"Curse  you,  go  away,"  shrieked  the  terror- 
stricken  man. 

An  attendant  hastened  to  the  spot ;  Zell  was 
standing  at  the  foot  of  the  cot,  glaring  at  him. 

"  I  thought  you  was  a  relation  of  his'n,"  said  the 
man  roughly. 

"  So  I  am,"  said  Zell  sternly.  "  As  the  one 
stung  is  related  to  the  viper  that  stung  him,  "and 
with  a  withering  look  she  passed  away. 

That  night  Van  Dam  died. 

In  process  of  time  Zell  was  turned  adrift  in  the 
city.  She  applied  vainly  at  stores  and  shops  for  a 
situation.  She  had  no  good  clothes,  and  appear- 
ances  were  against  her.  She  had  a  very  little  money 
in  her  portmonnaie  when  she  was  taken  to  the  hos- 
pital. This  was  given  to  her  on  leaving,  and  she 
made  it  go  as  far  as  possible.  At  last  she  went  to 


438  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DO  f 

an  intelligence  office  and  sat  among  the  others,  who 
looked  suspiciously,  at  her.  They  instinctively  felt 
that  she  was  not  of  their  ilk. 

"  What  can  you  do  ?  "  was  the  frequent  question. 

She  did  not  know  how  to  do  a  single  thing,  but 
thought  that  perhaps  the  position  of  waitress 
would  be  the  easiest. 

"  Where  are  your  references  ?  " 

It  was  her  one  thought  and  effort  to  conceal  all 
reference  to  the  past.  At  last  the  proprietor  in  pity 
sent  her  to  a  lady  who  had  told  him  to  supply  her 
with  a  waitress ;  the  place  was  in  Brooklyn,  and  Zell 
was  glad,  for  she  had  less  fear  there  of  seeing  any 
one  she  knew. 

The  lady  scolded  bitterly  about  such  an  ignora- 
mus being  sent  to  her,  but  Zell  seemed  so  patient 
and  willing  that  she  decided  to  try  her.  Zell  gave 
her  whole  soul  to  the  work,  and  though  the  place 
was  a  hard  one,  would  have  eventually  learned  to 
fill  it.  The  family  were  a  little  surprised  sometimes 
at  her  graceful  movements,  and  the  quick  gleams  of 
intelligence  in  her  large  eyes,  as  some  remark  was 
made  naturally  beyond  one  in  her  sphere.  One 
day  they  were  trying  to  recall,  while  at  the  table, 
the  name  of  a  famous  singer  at  the  opera.  Before 
she  thought  the  name  was  almost  out  of  her  lips. 
The  poor  girl  tried  to  disguise  herself  by  assuming, 
as  well  as  she  could,  the  stolid,  stupid  manner  of 
those  who  usually  blunder  about  our  homes. 

All  might  have  gone  well,  and  she  have  gained 
an  honest  livelihood,  had  not  an  unforeseen  circum. 


ZELL.  439 

stance  revealed  her  past  life.  Those  who  have 
done  wrong  are  never  safe.  At  the  most  unexpect- 
ed time,  and  in  the  most  unexpected  way,  their  sin 
may  stand  out  before  all  and  blast  them. 

Zell's  mistress  had  told  her  to  make  a  little  extra 
preparation,  for  she  expected  a  gentleman  to  dine 
that  evening.  With  some  growing  pride  and  in- 
terest in  her  work,  she  had  done  her  best,  and  even 
her  mistress  said  : 

"  Jane"  (her  assumed  name,)  "  you  are  improv- 
ing," and  a  gleam  of  something  like  hope  and  pleas- 
ure shot  across  the  poor  child's  face.  A  passionate 
sigh  came  up  from  her  heart, 

"  Oh,  I  will  try  to  do  right  if  the  world  will  let 
me." 

But  imagine  her  terror  as  she  saw  an  old  crony  of 
Van  Dam's  enter  the  room.  The  man  recognized 
her  in  a  moment,  and  she  saw  that  he  did.  She 
gave  him  an  imploring  glance,  which  he  returned 
by  one  of  cool  contempt.  Zell  could  hardly  get 
through  the  meal,  and  her  manner  attracted  atten- 
tion. The  cold-blooded  fellow,  whose  soul  was 
akin  to  that  of  his  dead  friend,  was  considerate 
enough  to  his  hostess  not  to  spoil  her  dinner, 
or  rob  her  of  a  waitress  till  it  was  over.  But  the 
moment  they  returned  to  the  parlor  he  told  who 
Zell  was,  and  how  she  must  have  just  come  from 
the  small-pox  hospital. 

The  lady  (?)  was  in  a  frenzy  of  rage  and  fear. 
She  rushed  down  to  where  Zell  was  panting  with 
weakness  and  emotion,  exclaiming : 


440  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DO? 

"  You  shameful  huzzy,  how  dare  you  come  into 
a  respectable  house,  after  your  loathsome  life,  and 
loathsome  disease?" 

"  Hear  me,"  pleaded  Zell,  "  the  doctor  said  there 
was  no  danger,  and  I  want  to  do  what  is  right." 

"  I  don't  believe  a  word  you  say.  I  wouldn't 
trust  you  a  minute.  How  much  you  have  stolen 
now  it  will  be  hard  to  tell,  and  I  shouldn't  wonder 
if  we  all  had  the  small-pox.  Leave  the  house 
instantly." 

"  Oh,  please  give  me  a  chance,"  cried  Zell,  on  her 
knees.  "  Indeed,  I  am  honest.  I'll  work  for  you 
frr  nothing,  if  you  will  let  me  stay." 

"  Leave  instantly,  or  I  will  call  for  a  policeman." 

"  Then  pay  me  my  week's  wages,"  sobbed  Zell. 

"  I  won't  pay  you  a  cent,  you  brazen  creature. 
You  didn't  know  how  to  do  anything,  and  have  been 
a  torment  ever  since  you  came.  I  might  have 
known  there  was  something  wrong.  Now  go,  take 
your  old,  pest-infected  rags  out  of  my  house,  or  I 
will  have  you  sent  to  where  you  properly  belong. 
Thank  Heaven,  I  have  found  you  out.'' 

A  sudden  change  came  over  Zell.  She  sprang 
up,  and  a  scowl  black  as  night  darkened  her  face. 

"  What  has  Heaven  to  do  with  your  sending  a 
poor  girl  out  into  the  night,  I  would  like  to  know?  '' 
she  asked,  in  a  harsh,  grating  voice ;  "  I  wouldn't  do 
it.  Therefore  I  am  better  than  you  are.  Heaven  has 
nothing  to  do  with  either  you  or  me;"  and  she 
looked  so  dark  and  dangerous  that  her  mistress  was 
frightened,  and  ran  up  to  the  parlor,  exclaiming : 


ZELL.  441 

"  She's  an  awful  creature.     I'm  afraid  of  her. ' 

Then  that  manly  being,  her  husband,  towered  up 
in  his  wrath,  saying  majestically,  "  I  guess  I'm  mas- 
ter in  my  own  house  yet." 

He  showed  poor  Zell  the  door.  Her  laugh  rang 
out  recklessly,  as  she  called  : 

"  Good-bye.  May  the  pleasant  thought  that  you 
have  sent  one  more  soul  to  perdition,  lull  you  to 
sweet  sleep." 

But,  for  some  reason,  it  did  not.  When  they  be- 
came cool  enough  to  think  it  over,  they  admitted 
that  perhaps  they  had  been  a  "  little  hasty." 

They  had  a  daughter  about  Zell's  age.  It  would 
be  a  little  hard  if  any  one  should  treat  her  so. 

Zell  had  scarcely  more  than  enough  to  pay  her 
way  to  New  York.  It  seemed  that  people  ought 
to  stretch  out  their  hands  to  shield  her,  but  they 
only  jostled  her  in  their  haste.  As  she  stood,  with 
bundle,  in  the  ferry  entrance  on  the  New  York  side, 
undecided  where  to  go,  a  man  ran  against  her  in  his 
hurry: 

"  Get  out  of  the  way,"  he  said,  irritably. 

She  moved  out  one  side  into  the  darkness,  and 
with  a  pallid  face,  said  : 

"  Yes,  it  has  come  to  this.  I  must  '  get  out  of  the 
way '  of  all  decent  people.  There  is  the  river  on 
one  side.  There  are  the  streets  on  the  ether, 
Which  shall  it  be?" 

«  Oh !  it  was  pitiful, 
Near  a  whole  city  full," 

that  no  hand  was  stretched  to  her  aid. 


442  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DO t 

She  shuddered.  "  I  can't,  I  dare  not  die  yet  i\ 
must  be  a  little  easier  here  than  there,  where  he 
is." 

Her  face  became  like  stone.  She  went  straight 
to  a  liquor  saloon,  and  drank  deep  of  that  spirit 
that  Shakespeare  called  "  devil,"  in  order  to  drown 
thought,  fear,  memory— every  vestige  of  the  woman. 

Then — the  depths  of  the  gulf  that  La  *ra  shrank 
from  with  a  dread  stronger  than  her  lort  of  life. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

EDITH  BRINGS  THE  WANDERER  HOME. 

MRS.  LACEY  and  Arden,  at  last,  in  the  stress 
of  their  poverty,  gave  their  consent  that 
Rose  should  go  to  the  city,  and  try  to  find  employ, 
ment  in  a  store  as  a  shop-girl.  Mrs.  Glibe,  her 
dressmaking  friend,  went  with  her,  and  though  they 
could  obtain  no  situation  the  first  day,  one  of  Mrs. 
Glibe's  acquaintances  directed  Rose  where  she 
could  find  a  respectable  boarding-house,  from  which, 
as  her  home,  she  could  continue  her  inquiries. 
Leaving  her  there,  Mrs.  Glibe  returned. 

Rose,  with  a  hope  and  courage  not  easily  damp- 
ened,  continued  her  search  the  next,  and  for  several 
days  following.  The  fall  trade  had  not  fairly  com- 
menced, and  there  seemed  no  demand  for  more 
help.  She  had  thirty  dollars  with  which  to  start 
life,  but  a  week  of  idleness  took  seven  of  this. 

At  last  her  fine  appearance  and  sprightly  man- 
ner induced  a  proprietor  of  a  large  establishment  to 
put  her  in  the  place  of  a  girl  discharged  that  day, 
with  the  wages  of  six  dollars  a  week. 

"  We  give  but  three  or  four,  as  a  general  thing,  to 
beginners,"  he  said. 

Rose  was  grateful  for  the  place,  and  yet  almost 
dismayed  at  the  prospect  before  her.  How  could 


444  WIIA  T  CAN  SIIE  D0* 

she  live  on  six  dollars  ?  The  bright-colored 
dreams  of  city  life  were  fast  melting  away  before 
the  hard,  and  in  some  instances  revolting,  facts  of 
her  experience.  She  could  have  obtained  situations 
in  two  or  three  instances  at  better  wages,  if  she 
had  assented  to  conditions  that  sent  her  hastily 
into  the  street  with  burning  blushes  and  indignant 
tears.  She  knew  the  great  city  was  full  of  wicked- 
ness, but  this  rude  contact  with  it  appalled  her. 

After  finding  what  she  had  to  live  on  she  ex- 
changed her  somewhat  comfortable  room,  where  she 
could  have  a  fire,  for  a  cold,  cheerless  attic  closet  in 
the  same  house.  "  As  I  learn  the  business,  they  will 
give  more,"  she  thought,  and  the  idea  of  going  back 
home  penniless,  to  be  laughed  at  by  Mrs.  Glibe, 
Miss  Klip,  and  others,  was  almost  as  bitter  a 
prospect  to  her  proud  spirit  as  being  a  burden  to 
her  impoverished  family,  and  she  resolved  to  sub- 
mit to  every  hardship  rather  than  do  it.  By 
taking  the  attic  room  she  reduced  her  board  to  five 
dollars  a  week. 

"  You  can't  get  it  for  less,  unless  you  go  to  a  very 
common  sort  of  a  place,"  said  her  landlady.  "  My 
house  is  respectable,  and  people  must  pay  a  little 
for  that." 

In  view  of  this  fact,  Rose  determined  to  stay,  if 
possible,  for  she  was  realizing  more  every  day  how 
unsheltered  and  tempted  she  was. 

Her  fresh  blonde  face,  her  breezy  manner,  and 
wind-shaken  curls  made  many  turn  to  look  after  her 
the  second  time.  Like  some  others  of  her  sex. 


EDITH  BRINGS  THE  WANDERER  HOME.     44 5 

perhaps  she  had  no  dislike  for  admiration,  but  in 
Rose's  position  it  was  often  shown  by  looks,  man- 
ner, and  even  words,  that  however  she  resented 
them,  followed  and  persecuted  her. 

As  she  grew  to  know  her  fellow-workers  better, 
her  heart  sickened  in  disgust  at  the  conversation 
and  evident  life  of  many  of  them,  and  they  often 
laughed  at  her  greenness  immoderately. 

Alas  !  for  the  fancied  superiority  of  these  knowing 
girls.  They  laughed  at  Rose  because  she  was  so 
much  more  like  what  God  meant  a  woman  should 
be  than  they.  A  weak-minded,  shallow  girl  would 
have  succumbed  to  their  ridicule,  and  soon  have 
become  like  them,  but  high-spirited  Rose  only  de- 
spised them,  and  gradually  sought  out  and  found 
some  companionship  with  those  of  the  better  sort  in 
the  large  store.  But  there  seemed  so  much  hollow- 
ness  and  falsehood  on  every  side  that  she  hardly 
knew  whom  to  trust. 

Poor  Rose  was  quite  sick  of  making  a  career  for 
herself  alone  in  the  city,  and  her  money  was  getting 
very  low.  Shop  life  was  hard  on  clothes,  and  she  was 
compelled  by  the  rules  of  the  store  to  dress  well, 
and  was  only  too  fond  of  dress  herself.  So,  instead 
of  getting  money  a-head,  she  at  last  was  down  to 
her  week's  wages  as  support,  and  nothing  was  said 
of  their  being  raised,  and  she  was  advised  to  say  noth- 
ing about  any  increase.  Then  she  had  a  week's  sick- 
ness, and  this  brought  her  in  debt  to  her  landlady. 

Several  times  during  her  evening  walks  home 
Rose  noticed  a  dark  face  and  two  vivid  black  eyes, 


446  WHAT  CAN  SHE  I>Of 

that  seemed  watching  her ;  but  as  soon  as  cb 
served,  the  face  vanished.  It  haunted  her  with  it3 
suggestion  of  some  one  seen  before. 

She  went  back  to  her  work  too  soon  after  her  ill- 
ness, and  had  a  relapse.  Her  respectable  landlady 
was  a  woman  of  system  and  rules.  From  long  expe- 
rience she  foresaw  that  her  poor  lodger  would  grow 
only  more  and  more  deeply  in  her  debt.  Perhaps 
we  can  hardly  blame  her.  It  was  by  no  easy  effort 
that  she  made  ends  meet  as  it  was.  She  had  an  ap- 
plication for  Rose's  little  room  from  one  who  gave 
more  prospect  of  being  able  to  pay,  so  she  quietly 
told  the  poor  girl  to  vacate.  Rose  pleaded  to  stay,  but 
the  woman  was  inexorable,  she  had  passed  through 
such  scenes  so  often  that  they  had  become  only 
one  of  the  disagreeable  phases  of  her  business. 

"Why,  child,"  she  said,  "if  I  did  not  live  up  to 
my  rule  in  this  respect,  I'd  soon  be  out  of  house  and 
home  myself.  You  can  leave  your  things  here  till 
you  find  some  other  place." 

So  poor  Rose,  weak  through  her  sickness,  more 
weak  through  terror,  found  herself  out  in  the  streets 
of  the  great  city,  utterly  penniless.  She  was  so  un- 
familiar with  it  that  she  did  not  know  where  to  go 
nor  to  whom  to  apply.  It  was  her  purpose  to  find 
a  cheaper  boarding-house.  She  went  down  toward 
the  meaner  and  poorer  part  of  the  city,  and  stopped 
at  the  low  stoop  of  a  house  where  there  was  a  sign  ; 
11  Rooms  to  let." 

She  was  about  to  enter,  when  a  hand  was  laid 
sharply  on  her  arm,  and  some  one  said : 


ED 1 Til  BRINGS  THE  WANDERER  HOME.      44} 

"  Don't  go  there.     Come  with  me,  quick  !  " 

"  Who  are  you?  "  asked  Rose,  startled  and  trem* 
bling. 

"  One  who  can  help  you  now,  whatever  I  an?  '  was 
the  answer.  "  I  know  you  well,  and  all  about  you. 
You  are  Rose  Lacey,  and  you  did  live  in  Pushton. 
Come  with  me,  quick,  and  I  will  take  you  to  a 
Christian  lady  whom  you  can  trust.  Come." 

Rose,  in  her  trouble  and  perplexity,  concluded  to 
follow  her.  They  soon  made  their  way  to  quite  a 
respectable  street,  and  rang  the  bell  at  the  door  of  a 
plain,  comfortable-appearing  house. 

A  cheery,  stout,  middle-aged  lady  opened  it 
She  looked  at  Rose's  new  friend,  and  reproachfully 
shook  her  finger  at  her,  saying, 

"  Naughty  Zell,  why  did  you  leave  the  Home  ?  " 

"  Because  I  am  possessed  by  a  restless  devil,"  was 
the  strange  answer.  "  Besides,  I  can  do  more  good 
in  the  streets  than  there.  I  have  just  saved  her," 
(pointing  to  Rose,  who  at  once  surmised  that  this 
was  Zell  Allen,  though  so  changed  she  would  not 
have  known  her).  "  Now,"  continued  Zell,  thrust- 
ing some  money  into  Rose's  hand,  "  take  this  and 
go  home  at  once.  Tell  her,  Mrs.  Ranger,  that  this 
city  is  no  place  for  her." 

"  If  you  have  friends  and  a  home  to  go  to, 
it's  the  very  best  thing  you  can  do,"  said  the 
lady. 

"  But  my  friends  are  poor,"  sobbed  Rose. 

"  No  matter,  go  to  them,"  said  Zell  almost  fierce- 
ly. "  I  tell  you  there  is  no  place  for  you  here,  unless 


443  .      WHAT  CAN  SHE  DO? 

you  wish  to  go  to  perdition.  Go  home,  where  you 
are  known.  Scrub,  delve,  do  anything  rather  than 
stay  here.  Your  big  brother  <ian  and  will  take  care 
of  you,  though  he  does  look  so  cross." 

"  She  is  right,  my  child ;  you  had  better  go  at 
once,"  said  the  lady,  decidedly. 

"  Who  are  you  ? "  asked  Rose  of  the  latter 
speaker,  with  some  curiosity. 

"I  am  a  city  missionary,"  answered  the  lady 
quietly,  "  and  it  is  my  business  to  help  such  poor 
girls  as  you  are.  I  say  to  you  from  full  knowledge, 
and  in  all  sincerity,  to  go  home  is  the  very  best 
thing  that  you  can  do."  j 

"  But  why  is  there  not  a  chance  for  a  poor,  well- 
meaning  girl  to  earn  an  honest  living  in  this  great 
city?"  ! 

"  Thousands  are  earning  such  a  living,  but  there 
is  not  one  chance  in  a  hundred  for  you." 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  Rose,  hotly. 

"  Do  you  see  all  these  houses  ?  They  are  full 
of  people,"  continued  Mrs.  Ranger,  "  and  some  of 
them  contain  many  families.  In  these  families  there 
are  thousands  of  girls  who  have  a  home,  a  shelter, 
and  protectors  here  in  the  city.  They  have  society  in 
relatives  and  neighbors.  They  have  no  board  to 
pay,  and  fathers  and  mothers,  brothers  and  sisters 
helping  support  them.  They  put  all  their  earn- 
ings into  a  common  fund,  and  it  supports  the 
family  Such  girls  can  afford,  and  will  work  for 
two,  three,  four,  and  five  dollars  a  week.  All  that 
they  earn  makes  the  burden  so  much  less  on  the 


EDITH  BRINGS  THE  WANDERER  HOME.     449 

father,  who  otherwise  would  have  supported  them 
in  idleness.  Now,  a  homeless  stranger  in  the  city 
must  pay  board,  and  therefore  they  can't  compete 
with  those  who  live  here.  Wages  are  kept  too  low. 
Not  one  in  a  hundred,  situated  as  you  are,  can  earn 
enough  to  pay  board  and  dress  as  they  are  re- 
quired to  in  the  fashionable  stores.  Have  you  been 
able?" 

"  No,"  groaned  Rose.  "  I  am  in  debt  to  my 
landlady  now,  and  I  had  some  money  to  start 
with." 

"  There  it  is,"  said  Mrs.  Ranger,  sadly,  "  the  same 
old  story." 

"  But  these  stores  ought  to  pay  more,"  said  Rose, 
indignantly. 

"They  will  only  pay  for  labor,  as  for  everything 
else,  the  market  price,  and  that  averages  but  six 
dollars  a  week,  and  more  are  working  for  from  three 
to  five  than  for  six.  As  I  told  you,  there  are 
thousands  of  girls  living  in  the  city  glad  to  get  a 
chance  at  any  price." 

Rose  gave  aweary,  discouraged  sigh  and  said,  "  I 
fear  you  are  right,  1  must  go  home.  Indeed,  after 
what  has  happened  I  hardly  dare  stay. 

"  Go,"  said  Zell,  "  as  if  you  were  leaving  Sodom, 
and  don't  look  back."  Then  she  asked  with  a  wist- 
ful, hungry  look,  "  Have  you  seen  any  of ?" 

She  stopped,  she  could  not  speak  the  names  of  her 
kindred. 

"  Yes,"  said  Rose  gently.  (Yesterday  she  would 
have  stood  coldly  aloof  from  Zell.  To-day  she  wan 


45O  WlfA  T  CAN  SHE  DO? 

very  grateful  and  full  of  sympathy.)  "  I  know  they 
are  well.  They  were  all  sick  after — after  you 
went  away.  But  they  got  well  again,  and  (lowering 
her  voice)  Edith  prays  for  you  night  and  day." 

"  Oh,  oh,"  sobbed  Zell,  "  this  is  torment,  this  is 
to  see  the  heaven  I  cannot  enter,"  and  she  dashed 
away. 

"Poor  child,"  said  Mrs.  Ranger,  "there's  an 
angel  in  her  yet  if  I  only  knew  how  to  bring  it  out. 
I  may  see  her  to-morrow,  and  I  may  not  for  weeks. 
Take  the  money  she  left  with  you,  and  here  is  some 
more.  It  may  help  her  to  think  that  she  helped 
you.  And  now,  my  dear,  let  me  see  you  safely  on 
your  way  home." 

That  night  the  stage  left  Rose  at  the  poor  dilapi- 
dated little  farm-house,  and  in  her  mother's  close 
embrace  she  felt  the  blessedness  of  the  home  shel- 
ter, however  poor,  and  the  protecting  love  of  kin- 
dred, however  plain. 

"  Arden  is  away,"  said  the  quiet  woman  of  few 
words.  "  He  is  home  only  twice  a  month.  He  has 
a  job  of  cutting  and  carting  wood  a  good  way  from 
here.  We  are  so  poor  this  winter  he  had  to  take 
this  chance.  Your  father  is  doing  better.  I  hope 
for  him,  though  with  fear  and  trembling." 

Then  Rose  told  her  mother  her  experience  and 
how  she  had  been  saved  by  Zell,  and  the  poor 
woman  clasped  her  daughter  to  her  breast  again 
and  again,  and  with  streaming  eyes  raised  toward 
heaven,  poured  out  her  gratitude  to  God. 

"  Rose,"  said  she  with  a  shudder,  "if  I  had  not 


EDITH  BRINGS  THE  WANDERER  HOME       45 1 

prayed  so  for  you  night  and  day,  perhaps  you  would 
not  have  found  such  friends  in  your  time  of  need. 
Oh,  let  us  both  pray  for  that  poor  lost  one,  that 
she  may  be  saved  also." 

From  this  day  forth  Rose  began  to  pray  the  true 
prayer  of  pity,  and  then  the  true  prayer  of  a  per- 
sonal  faith.  The  rude,  evil  world  had  shown  her  her 
own  and  others'  need,  in  a  way  that  made  her  feel 
that  she  wanted  the  Heavenly  Father's  care. 

In  other  respects  she  took  up  her  life  for  a  time 
where  she  had  left  it  a  few  months  before. 

Edith  was  deeply  moved  at  Rose's  story,  and 
Zell's  wild,  wayward  steps  were  followed  by  prayers, 
as  by  a  throng  of  reclaiming  angels. 

"  I  would  go  and  bring  her  home  in  a  moment,  if 
I  only  knew  where  to  find  her,"  said  Edith. 

"  Mrs.  Ranger  said  she  would  write  as  soon  as 
there  was  any  chance  of  your  doing  so,"  said  Rose. 

About  the  middle  of  January  a  letter  came  to 
Edith,  as  follows : 

"Miss  Edith  Allen.— Your  sister,  Zell,  is  in 

Bellevue  Hospital,  ward .  Come  quickly  ;  she 

is  very  ill." 

Edith  took  the  earliest  train,  and  was  soon  follow- 
ing an  attendant,  with  eager  steps,  down  the  long 
ward.  They  came  to  a  dark-eyed  girl  that  was 
evidently  dying,  and  she  closed  her  eyes  with  a  chill 
of  fear.  A  second  glance  showed  that  it  was  not 
Zell,  and  a  little  farther  on  she  saw  the  face  of  her 
sister,  but  so  changed.  Oh,  the  havoc  that  sin  and 
wretchedness  had  made  in  that  beautiful  creature 


452  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DO  f 

during  a  few  short  months !  She  was  in  a  state  of 
unconscious  muttering  delirium,  and  Edith  showered 
kisses  on  the  poor,  parched  lips ;  her  tears  fell  like 
rain  on  the  thin,  flushed  face.  Zell  suddenly  cried, 
with  the  girlish  voice  of  old, 

"  Hurrah,  hurrah  !  books  to  the  shades  ;  no  more 
teachers  and  tyrants  for  me." 

She  was  living  over  the  old  life,  with  its  old,  fatal 
tendencies. 

Edith  sat  down,  and  sobbed  as  if  her  heart  would 
break.  Unnoticed,  a  stout,  elderly  lady  was  regard- 
ing her  with  eyes  wet  with  sympathy.  As  Edith's 
grief  subsided  somewhat  she  laid  her  hand  on  the 
poor  girl's  shoulder,  saying, 

"  My  child,  I  feel  very  sorry  for  you.  For  some 
reason  I  can't  pass  on  and  leave  you  alone  in  your 
sorrow,  though  we  are  total  strangers.  Your  trouble 
gives  you  a  sacred  claim  upon  me.  What  can  I  do 
for  you  ?  " 

Edith  looked  up  through  her  tears,  and  saw  a 
kind,  motherly  face,  with  a  halo  of  gray  curls 
around  it.  With  woman's  intuition  she  trusted  her 
instantly,  and,  with  another  rush  of  tears,  said, 

"This  is  —  my — poor  lost — sister.  I've-  just 
found  her." 

"Ah!"  said  the  lady  significantly,  '  God  pity 
you  both." 

"  Were  it  not — for  Him,"  sobbed  Edith,  with  hcf 
hand  upon  her  aching  heart,  "  I  believe — I  would 
die." 

The  lady  sat  dcwn  by  her,  and  took  her  hand, 


EDITH  BRINGS  THE  WANDERER  HOME,      453 

saying,  "  I  will  stay  with  you,  dear,  till  you  feel 
better." 

Gradually  and  delicately  she  drew  from  Edith  her 
Etory,  and  her  large  heart  yearned  over  the  two 
girls  in  the  sincerest  sympathy. 

"  I  was  not  personally  acquainted  with  your 
father  and  mother,  but  I  know  well  who  they 
were,"  she  said.  "  And  now,  my  child,  you  cannot 
remain  here  much  longer ;  where  are  you  going  to 
stay?" 

•«  I  haven't  thought,"  said  Edith  sadly. 

"  I  have,"  replied  the  lady  heartily,  "  I  am  going 
to  take  you  home  with  me.  We  don't  live  very  far 
away,  and  you  can  come  and  see  your  sister  as  often 
as  you  choose,  within  the  limits  of  the  rules." 

"  Oh  !  "  exclaimed  Edith,  deprecatingly,  "  I  am 
not  fit — I  have  no  claim." 

"  My  child,"  said  the  kidy  gently,  "  don't  you 
remember  what  our  Master  said,  '  I  was  a  stranger 
and  ye  took  me  in.'  Is  He  not  fit  to  enter  my 
house  ?  Has  He  no  claim  ?  In  taking  you  home  I 
am  taking  Him  home,  and  so  will  be  happy  and 
honored  in  your  presence.  Moreover,  my  dear, 
from  what  I  have  seen  and  heard,  I  am  sure  I  shall 
love  you  for  your  own  sake." 

Edith  looked  at  her  through  grateful  tears,  and 
said,  "  It  has  seemed  to  me  that  Jesus  has  been 
comforting  me  all  the  time  through  your  lips. 
How  beautiful  Christianity  is,  when  it  is  lived  out. 
I  will  go  to  your  house  as  if  it  were  His." 

Then  she  turned  and  pressed  a  loving  kiss  on 


454  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOt 

Zell's  unconscious  face,  but  her  wonder  was   past 
words  when  the  lady  stooped  down  also,  and  kissed 
the  "woman  which  was  a  sinner."     She  seized  her 
hand  with  both  of  hers  and  faltered, 
,     "  You  don't  despise  and  shrink  from  her,  then  ?  " 

"  Despise  her  !  no,"  said  the  noble  woman.  "  I 
have  never  been  tempted  as  this  poor  child  has. 
God  does  not  despise  her.  What  am  I  ?  " 

From  that  moment  Edith  could  have  kissed  her 
feet,  and  feeling  that  God  had  sent  his  angel  to  take 
care  of  her,  she  followed  the  lady  from  the  hospital. 
A  plain  but  elegantly-liveried  carriage  was  waiting, 
and  they  were  driven  rapidly  to  one  of  the  stateliest 
palaces  on  Fifth  Avenue.  As  they  crossed  the 
marble  threshold,  the  lady  turned  and  said, 

"  Pardon  me,  my  dear,  my  name  is  Mrs.  Hart. 
This  is  your  home  now  as  truly  as  mine  while  you 
are  with  us,"  and  Edith  was  shown  to  a  room  re- 
plete with  luxurious  comfort,  and  told  to  rest  till 
the  six  o'clock  dinner. 

With  some  timidity  and  fear  she  came  down  to 
meet  the  others.  As  she  entered  she  saw  a  portly 
man  standing  on  the  rug  before  the  glowing  grate, 
with  a  shock  of  white  hair,  and  a  genial,  kindly 
face. 

"  My  husband,"  said  Mrs.  Hart,  "  this  is  our  new 
friend,  Miss  Edith  Allen.  You  knew  her  father 
well  in  business,  I  am  sure." 

"  Of  course  I  did,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  taking 
Edith's  hand  in  both  of  his,  "  and  a  fine  business 
man  he  was,  too  You  are  welcome  to  our  home, 


EMTH  BRINGS  THE  WANDERER  HOME.     45  5 

Miss  Edith.  Look  here,  mother,"  he  said,  turning 
to  his  wife  with  a  quizzical  look,  and  still  keeping 
hold  of  Edith's  hand,  "  you  didn't  bring  home  an 
'  angel  unawares  '  this  time.  I  say,  wife,  you  won't 
be  jealous  if  I  take  a  kiss  now,  will  you — a  sort  of 
scriptural  kiss,  you  know?"  and  he  gave  Edith  a 
hearty  smack  that  broke  the  ice  between  them  com- 
pletely. , 

With  a  face  like  a  peony,  Edith  said,  earnestly, 
"  I  am  sure  the  real  angels  throng  your  home." 
'  "  Hope  they  do,"  said  Mr.  Hart,  cheerily.  "  My 
old  lady  there  is  the  best  one  I  have  seen  yet,  but 
I  am  ready  for  all  the  rest.  Here  comes  some  of 
them,"  he  added,  as  his  daughters  entered,  and  to 
each  one  he  gave  a  hearty  kiss,  counting,  "  one, 
two,  three,  four,  five — now,  '  all  present  or  accounted 
for?'" 

"  Yes,"  said  his  wife,  laughing. 

"  Dinner,  then,"  and  after  the  young  ladies  had 
greeted  Edith  most  cordially,  he  gave  her  his  arm, 
as  if  she  had  been  a  duchess,  and  escorted  her  to  the 
dining-room.  After  being  seated,  they  bowed  their 
heads  in  quiet  reverence,  and  the  old  man,  with  the 
voice  and  manner  of  a  child  speaking  to  a  father, 
thanked  God  for  his  mercies,  and  invoked  his 
blessing. 

The  table-talk  was  genial  and  wholesome,  with 
now  and  then  a  sparkle  of  wit,  or  a  broad  gleam  ol 
humor. 

"  My  good  wife  there,  Miss  Edith,"  said  Mr.  Hart, 
with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye,  "  is  a  very  sly  old  lady. 


456  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DO? 

If  she  does  wear  spectacles,  she  sees  with  gieat 
discrimination,  or  else  the  world  is  growing  so  full 
of  interesting  saints  and  sinners,  that  I  am  quite  in 
hopes  of  it.  Every  day  she  has  a  new  story  about 
some  veiy  good  person,  or  some  very  bad  person 
becoming  good.  If  you  go  on  this  way  much 
longer,  mother,  the  millennium  will  commence  be- 
fore the  Doctors  of  Divinity  are  ready  for  it." 

"  My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Hart,  with  a  comic  aside 
to  Edith,  "  my  husband  has  never  got  over  being  a 
boy.  When  he  will  become  old  enough  to  sober 
down,  I  am  sure  I  can't  tell." 

"  What  have  I  to  sober  me,  with  all  these  happy 
faces  around,  I  would  like  to  know?"  was  the 
hearty  retort.  "  I  am  having  a  better  time  every 
day,  and  mean  to  go  on  so  ad  infinitum.  You're 
a  good  one  to  talk  about  sobering  down,  when  you 
laugh  more  than  any  of  these  youngsters." 

"  Well,"  said  his  wife,  her  substantial  form  quiv- 
ering with  merriment,  "  it's  because  you  make  me." 

During  the  meal  Edith  had  time  to  observe  the 
young  ladies  more  closely.  They  were  fine-looking, 
and  one  or  two  of  them  really  beautiful.  Two  of 
them  were  in  early  girlhood  yet,  and  there  was  not 
a  vestige  of  the  vanity  and  affectation  often  seen 
in  those  of  their  position.  They  evidently  had 
wide  diversities  of  character,  and  faults,  but  there 
was  the  simplicity  and  sincerity  about  them  which 
makes  the  difference  between  a  chaste  piece  of 
marble  and  a  painted  block  of  wood.  She  saw 
pbout  her  a  house  as  rich  and  costly  in  its  appoint- 


EDITH  BRINGS  THE  WANDERER  HOME.      4  57 

ments  as  her  own  old  home  had  been,  but  it 
was  not  so  crowded  or  pronounced  in  its  furnish- 
ing  and  decoration.  There  were  fewer  pictures, 
but  finer  ones  ;  and  in  all  matters  of  art,  French 
taste  was  not  prominent,  as  had  been  the  case  in 
her  home. 

The  next  day  she  sat  by  unconscious  Zell  as  long 
as  was  permitted,  and  wrote  fully  to  Laura. 

The  dark-eyed  girl  that  seemed  dying  the  day 
before  was  gone. 

"  Did  she  die  ?  "  she  asked  of  an  attendant. 

"  Yes." 

"  What  did  they  do  with  her?  " 

"  Buried  her  in  Potter's  Field." 

Edith  shuddered.  "  It  would  have  been  Zell's 
end,"  she  thought,  "  if  I  hadn't  found  her,  and  she 
had  died  here  alone." 

That  evening  Mrs.  Hart,  as  they  all  sat  in  her 
own  private  parlor,  said  to  her  daughters, 

"  Girls,    away   with   you.     I    can't   move  a  step 

without  stumbling  over  one  of  you.  You  are  always 

crowding  into  my  sanctum,  as  if  there  was  not  an 

1  inch  of  room  for  you  anywhere  else.     Vanish.     I 

want  tc  talk  to  Edith." 

"  It's  your  own  fault  that  we  crowd  in  here, 
mother,"  said  the  eldest.  "  You  are  the  loadstone 
that  draws  us.'' 

"  I'll  get  a  lot  of  stones  to  throw  at  you  and  drive 
you  out  with,"  said  the  old  lady,  with  mock  severity. 

The  youngest  daughter  precipitated  herself  on 
her  mother's  neck,  exclaiming, 
20 


458  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DO? 

"  Wouldn't  that  be  fun,  to  see  jolly  old  mother 
throwing  stones  at  us.  She  would  wrap  them  in 
eider-down  first." 

"  Scamper;  the  whole  bevy  of  you,"  said  the  old 
lady,  laughing  ;  and  Edith,  with  a  sigh,  contrasted 
this  "  mother's  room  "  with  the  one  which  she  and 
her  sisters  shunned  as  the  place  where  their  "  teeth 
were  set  on  edge." 

"  My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Hart,  her  face  becoming 
grave  and  troubled,  "  there  is  one  thing  in  my 
Christian  work  that  discourages  me.  We  reclaim 
so  few  of  the  poor  girls  that  have  gone  astray.  I 
understand,  from  Mrs.  Ranger,  that  your  sister  was 
at  the  Home,  but  that  she  left  it.  How  can  we  ac- 
complish more  ?  We  do  everything  we  can  for 
them." 

"  I  don't  think  earthly  remedies  can  meet  their 
case,"  said  Edith,  in  a  low  tone. 

"  I  agree  with  you,"  said  Mrs.  Hart,  earnestly, 
"  but  we  do  give  them  religious  instruction." 

"  I  don't  think  religious  instruction  is  sufficient," 
Edith  answered.  "  They  need  a  Saviour.'' 

"  But  we  do  tell  them  about  Jesus." 

"  Not  always  in  a  way  that  they  understand.  I 
fear,"  said  Edith,  sadly.  "  I  have  heard  people  tell 
about  Him  as  they  would  about  Socrates,  or  Moses, 
or  Paul.  We  don't  need  facts  about  Him  so  much 
as  Jesus  Himself.  In  olden  time  people  did  not  go 
to  their  sick  and  troubled  friends  and  tell  them  that 
Jesus  was  in  Capernaum,  and  that  He  was  a  gieat 
deliverer.  They  brought  the  poor,  helpless  crea- 


EDITH  BRINGS  THE  WANDERER  HOME.      455 

tures  right  to  Him.  They  laid  them  right  at  the 
feet  of  a  personal  Saviour,  and  He  helped  them. 
Do  we  do  this  ?  I  have  thought  a  great  deal  about 
it,"  continued  Edith,  "and  it  seems  to  me  that 
more  associate  the  ideas  of  duty,  restraint,  and 
almost  impossible  effort  with  Him,  than  the  ideas 
of  help  and  sympathy.  It  was  so  with  me,  I  know, 
at  first." 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right,"  said  Mrs.  Hart  thought- 
fully. "The  poor  creatures  to  whom  I  referred 
seem  more  afraid  of  God  than  anything  else." 

"And  yet,  of  all  that  ever  lived,  Jesus  was  the  most 
tender  toward  them — the  most  ready  to  forgive  and 
save.  Believe  me,  Mrs.  Hart,  there  was  more  gospel 
in  the  kiss  you  gave  my  sister — there  was  more  of 
Jesus  Christ  in  it,  than  in  all  the  sermons  ever  writ- 
ten, and  I  am  sure  that  if  she  had  been  conscious, 
it  would  have  saved  her.  They  must,  as  it  were, 
feel  the  hand  of  love  and  power  that  lifted  Peter 
out  of  the  engulfing  waves.  The  idea  of  duty 
and  sturdy  self-restraint  is  perhaps  too  much  em- 
phasized, while  they,  poor  things,  are  weak  as  water. 
They  are  so  '  lost '  that  He  must  just  '  seek  and 
save  '  them,  as  he  said — lift  them  up — keep  them 
up  almost  in  spite  of  themselves.  Saved — that  is 
the  word,  as  the  limp,  helpless  form  is  dragged  out 
of  danger.  On  account  of  my  sister  I  have 
thought  a  good  deal  about  this  subject,  and  there 
seems  to  me  to  be  no  remedy  for  this  class,  save  in 
the  merciful,  patient,  personal  Saviour.  He  had 
wonderful  power  over  them  when  he  was  on  earth, 


460  WHA1  CAN  SHE  DO? 

and  he  would  have  the  same  now,  if  His  people 
could  make  them  understand  Him." 

"  I  think  few  of  us  understand  this  personal 
Saviour  ourselves  as  we  ought,"  said  Mrs.  Hart, 
somewhat  unvailing  her  own  experience.  "  The  Ro- 
mish Church  puts  the  Virgin,  Saints,  penances, 
and  I  know  not  what,  between  the  sinner  and  Jesus, 
and  we  put  catechisms,  doctrines,  and  a  great  mass 
of  truth  about  them,  between  Him  and  us.  I 
doubt  whether  many  of  us,  like  the  beloved  disciple, 
have  leaned  our  heads  on  His  heart  of  love,  and  felt 
its  throbs.  Too  much  of  the  time  He  seems  in 
Heaven  to  me,  not  here." 

"  I  never  had  much  religious  instruction,"  said 
Edith,  simply.  "  I  found  Him  in  the  New  Testa- 
ment, as  people  of  old  found  Him  in  Palestine,  and 
I  went  to  Him,  just  as  I  was,  and  He  has  been  such 
a  Friend  and  Helper.  He  lets  me  sit  at  His  feet 
like  Mary,  and  the  words  He  spoke,  seem  said  di- 
rectly to  poor  little  me." 

Wistful  tears  came  into  Mrs.  Hart's  eyes,  and  she 
kissed  Edith,  saying : 

"  I  have  been  a  Christian  forty  years,  my  child, 
but  you  are  nearer  to  Him  than  I  am.  Stay  close 
to  His  side.  This  talk  has  done  more  good  than  I 
imagined  possible." 

"  If  I  seem  nearer,"  said  Edith,  gently,  "  isn't  it, 
perhaps,  because  1  am  weaker  than  you  aie?  His 
'  sheep  follow  '  him,  but  isn't  there  some  place  in  the 
Bible  about  His  '  carrying  the  lambs  in  His  bosom  '? 
I  think  we  shall  find  at  last  that  He  was  nearer  to 


EDITH  BRINGS  THE  WANDERER  HOME.     461 

us  all  than  \ve  thought,  and  that  His  arm  of  love 
was  around  us  all  the  time." 

In  a  sudden,  strong  impulse,  Mrs.  Hart  embraced 
Edith,  and,  looking  upward,  exclaimed  : 

"  Truly  '  Thou  hast  hid  these  things  from  the 
wise  and  prudent,  and  hast  revealed  them  unto 
babes.'  As  my  husband  said,  I  am  entertaining  a 
good  angel." 

The  physician  gave  Edith  great  encouragement 
about  Zell,  and  told  her  that  in  about  two  weeks  he 
thought  she  might  be  moved.  The  fever  was  taking 
a  light  form. 

One  evening,  after  listening  to  some  superb  music 
from  Annie,  the  second  daughter,  between  whom 
and  Edith  quite  an  affinity  seemed  to  develop  itself, 
the  latter  said : 

"  How  finely  you  play.  I  think  you  are  wonder- 
ful for  an  amateur." 

"  I  am  not  an  amateur,"  replied  Annie,  laughing. 
"  Music  is  my  profession." 

"  I  don't  understand,"  said  Edith. 

"  Father  has  made  me  study  music  as  a  sci- 
ence," explained  Annie.  "I  could  teach  it  to-mor. 
row.  All  of  us  girls  are  to  have  a  profession.  Ella, 
my  eldest  sister,  is  studying  drawing  and  painting. 
Here  is  a  portfolio  of  her  sketches." 

Even  Edith's  unskilled  eyes  could  see  that  she 
had  made  great  proficiency. 

"  Ella  could  teach  drawing  and  coloring  at  once," 
continued  Annie,  "  for  she  has  studied  the  rules  and 
principles  very  carefully,  and  given  great  attention 


462  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DO f 

to  the  rudiments  of  art,  instead  of  having  a  teacher 
help  her  paint  a  few  show  pictures.  But  I  know 
very  little  about  it,  for  I  haven't  much  taste  that 
way.  Father  has  us  educated  according  to  our 
tastes  ;  that  is,  if  we  show  a  little  talent  for  any  one 
thing,  he  has  us  try  to  perfect  ourselves  in  that  one 
thing.  Julia  is  the  linguist,  and  can  jabber  French 
and  German  like  a  native.  Father  also  insisted  on 
our  being  taught  the  common  English  branches  very 
thoroughly,  and  he  says  he  could  get  us  situations 
to  teach  within  a  month,  if  it  were  necessary." 

Edith  sighed  deeply  as  she  thought  how  superfi- 
cial their  education  had  been,  but  she  said  rather 
slyly  to  Annie,  "  But  you  are  engaged.  I  think 
your  husband  will  veto  the  music-teaching." 

"  Oh,  well,"  said  Annie,  laughing,  "  Walter  may 
fail,  or  get  sick,  or  something  may  happen.  So  you 
see  we  wouldn't  have  to  go  to  the  poor-house. 
Besides,  there's  a  sort  of  satisfaction  in  knowing 
one  thing  pretty  well.  But  the  half  is  not  told  you, 
and  I  suppose  you  will  think  father  and  mother 
queer  people  ;  indeed  most  of  our  friends  do.  For 
mother  has  had  a  milliner  come  to  the  house,  and  a 
dressmaker,  and  a  hair-dresser,  and  whatever  we 
have  any  knack  at  she  has  made  us  learn  well, 
some  one  thing,  and  some  another.  Wouldn't  I 
like  to  dress  your  long  hair,"  continued  the  light- 
hearted  girl,  "  I  would  make  you  so  bewitching 
that  you  would  break  a  dozen  hearts  in  one  evening, 
Then  mother  has  taught  us  how  to  cook,  and  to 
make  bread  and  cake  and  preserves,  and  Ella  and  I 


EDITH  BRINGS  THE  WANDERER  HOME.     463 

have  to  take  turns  in  keeping  house,  and  marketing, 
and  keeping  account  of  the  living  expenses.  The 
rest  of  the  girls  are  at  school  yet.  Mother  says  she 
is  not  going  to  palm  off  any  frauds  in  her  daughters 
when  they  get  married ;  and  if  we  only  turn  out 
half  as  good  as  she  is,  our  husbands  will  be  lucky 
men,  if  I  do  say  it ;  and  if  all  of  us  don't  get  any, 
we  can  take  care  of  ourselves.  Father  has  been 
holding  you  up  as  an  example  of  what  a  girl  can  do, 
if  she  has  to  make  her  own  way  in  the  world." 

And  the  sprightly,  but  sensible,  girl  would  have 
rattled  on  indefinitely,  had  not  Edith  fled  to  her 
room  in  an  uncontrollable  rush  of  sorrow  over  the 
sad,  sad,  "  It  might  have  been." 

One  afternoon  Annie  came  into  Edith's  room, 
saying,  "I  am  going  to  dress  your  hair — Yes  I  will — • 
now  don't  say  a  word,  I  want  to.  We  expect  two 
or  three  friends  in — one  you'll  be  glad  to  see.  No, 
I  won't  tell  you  who  it  is.  It's  a  surprise."  And 
she  flew  at  Edith's  head,  pulled  out  the  hair-pins, 
and  went  to  work  with  a  dexterity  and  rapidity  that 
did  credit  to  her  training.  In  a  little  while  she  had 
crowned  Edith  with  nature's  most  exquisite  coronet. 

A  cloud  of  care  seemed  to  rest  on  Mr.  Hart's 
brow  as  they  entered  the  dining-room,  but  he  ban- 
ished  it  instantly,  and  with  the  quaint  stately  gal- 
lantry of  the  old  school,  pretended  to  be  deeply 
smitten  with  Edith's  loveliness.  And  so  lovely  she 
appeared  that  their  eyes  continually  returned,  and 
rested  admiringly  on  her,  till  at  last  the  blushing 
girl  remonstrated, 


464  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DO? 

"  You  all  keep  looking  at  me  so  that  I  feel  as  if 
I  were  the  dessert,  and  you  were  going  to  eat  me  up 
pretty  soon." 

"  I  speak  for  the  biggest  bite,"  cried  Mr.  Hart; 
and  they  laughed  at  her  and  petted  her  so  that  she  t 
said : 

"  I  feel  as  if  I  had  known  you  all  ten  years." 

But  ever  and  anon,  Edith  saw  traces  of  the  cloud 
of  care  that  she  had  noticed  at  first.  And  so  did 
Mrs.  Hart,  for  she  said : 

"  You  have  been  a  little  anxious  about  business 
lately.  Is  there  anything  new  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Hart,  who,  in  contrast  to  Mr. 
Allen,  talked  business  to  his  family,  "  things  are 
only  growing  a  little  worse.  There  have  been  one 
or  two  bad  failures  to-day.  The  worst  of  it  all  is, 
there  seems  a  general  lack  of  confidence.  No  one 
knows  what  is  going  to  happen.  One  feels  as  if  in 
a  thunder-shower.  The  lightning  may  strike  him, 
and  it  may  fall  somewhere  else.  But  don't  worry, 
good  mother,  I  am  as  safe  as  a  man  can  be.  I  have 
a  round  million  in  my  safe  ready  for  an  emer- 
gency." 

The  wife  knew  just  where  her  husband  stood  that 
night. 

At  nine  o'clock,  Edith  was  talking  earnestly  with 
Mrs.  Ranger,  whom  she  had  expressed  a  wish  to 
see.  There  were  a  few  other  people  present  cf  the 
very  highest  social  standing,  and  intimate  friends  of 
the  family,  for  her  kind  entertainers  would  not  ex- 
pose her  to  any  strange  and  unsympathetic  eyes, 


EDITH  BRINGS  THE  WANDERER  HOME.     465 

Annie  was  flitting  about,  the  very  spirit  of  innocent 
mischief  and  match-making,  gloating  over  the  pleas- 
ure she  expected  to  give  Edith. 

The  bell  rang,  and  a  moment  later  she  marshalled 
in  Gus  Elliott,  as  handsome  and  exquisitely  dressed 
as  ever.  He  was  as  much  in  the  dark  as  to  whom 
he  should  see  as  Edith.  Some  one  had  told  Annie 
of  his  former  devotedness  to  Edith,  and  so  she  in- 
nocently meant  to  do  both  a  kindness.  Having  a 
slight  acquaintance  with  Elliott,  as  a  general  society 
man,  she  invited  him  this  evening  to  "  meet  an  old 
friend."  He  gladly  accepted,  feeling  it  a  great 
honor  to  visit  at  the  Hart's. 

He  saw  Edith  a  moment  before  she  observed  him, 
and  had  time  to  note  her  exquisite  beauty.  But 
he  turned  pale  with  fear  and  anxiety  in  regard  to 
his  reception. 

Then  she  raised  her  eyes  and  saw  him.  The 
blood  rushed  in  a  hot  torrent  to  her  face,  and  then 
left  it  in  extreme  pallor.  Gus  advanced  with  all  the 
ease  and  grace  that  he  could  command  under  the 
circumstances,  and  held  out  his  hand.  "  She  can- 
not refer  to  the  past  here  before  them  all,"  he 
thought. 

But  Edith  rose  slowly,  and  fixed  her  large  eyes, 
that  glowed  like  coals  of  fire,  sternly  upon  him,  and 
put  her  hand  behind  her  back. 

All  held  their  breath  in  awe-struck  expectation. 
She  seemed  to  see  only  him  and  the  past,  and  to 
forget  all  the  rest. 

"  No,  sir,"  she  said,  in  a  low,  deep  voice,  that 


466  WffA  T  CAN  SHE  DOt 

curdled  Gus  s  blood,  "  I  cannot  take  your  hand.  \ 
might  in  pity,  if  you  were  in  the  depths  of  poverty 
and  trouble,  as  I  have  been,  but  not  here  and  thus. 
Do  you  know  where  my  sister  is  ?  " 

"  No,"  faltered  Gus,  his  knees  trembling  under  him. 

"  She  is  in  Bellevue  Hospital.  A  poor  girl  was 
carried  from  thence  to  Potter's  Field  a  day  or  two 
since.  She  might  have  been  if  I  had  not  found 
her.  And,"  continued  Edith,  with  her  face  darken- 
ing like  night,  and  her  tone  deepening  till  it  sent  a 
thrill  of  dread  to  the  hearts  of  all  present,  "  in 
Potter's  Field  /  might  now  have  been  if  I  had  lis- 
tened to  you." 

Gus  trembled  before  her  in  a  way  that  plainly 
confirmed  her  words. 

With  a  grand  dignity  she  turned  to  Mrs.  Hart, 
saying.  "  Please  excuse  my  absence ;  I  cannot 
breathe  the  same  air  with  him,"  and  she  was  about 
to  sweep  from  the  parlor  like  an  incensed  goddess, 
when  Mr.  Hart  sprang  up,  his  eyes  blazing  with 
anger,  and  putting  his  arm  around  Edith,  said 
sternly : 

"  I  would  shield  this  dear  girl  as  my  own  daugh- 
ter. Leave  this  house,  and  never  cross  my  threshold 
again." 

Gus  slunk  away  without  a  word.  As  the  guilty 
will  be  at  last,  he  was  "  speechless."  So,  in  a  mo- 
ment, when  least  expecting  it,  he  fell  from  his 
heaven,  which  was  society :  for  the  news  of  his 
baseness  spread  like  wildfire,  and  within  a  week 
every  respectable  door  was  closed  against  him. 


EDITH  BRINGS  THE  WAND^.ER  HOME.     467 

Is  it  cynical  to  say  that  the  well -known  and  wide- 
ly-honored Mr.  Hart,  in  closing  his  door,  had  influ- 
ence as  well  as  Gus's  sin,  in  leading  some  to  close 
their's?  Motives  in  society  are  a  little  mixed, 
sometimes. 

Mr  Hart  went  down  town  the  next  morning,  a 
little  anxious,  it  is  true,  on  general  principles,  but 
not  in  the  least  apprehensive  of  any  disaster.  "  I 
may  have  to  pay  out  a  few  hundred  thousand,"  he 
thought,  "  but  that  won't  trouble  me." 

But  the  bolt  of  financial  suspicion  was  directed 
toward  him ;  how,  he  could  not  tell.  Within  half 
an  hour  after  opening,  checks  for  twelve  hundred 
thousand  were  presented  at  his  counter.  He  tele- 
graphed to  his  wife,  "  A  run  upon  me."  Later, 
"  Danger! "  Then  came  the  words  to  the  up-town 
palace,  "  Have  suspended  !  "  In  the  afternoon, 
"  The  storm  will  sweep  me  bare,  but  courage,  God, 
and  our  right  hands,  will  make  a  place  and  a  way 
for  us." 

The  business  community  sympathized  deeply  with 
Mr.  Hart.'  Hard,  cool  men  of  Wall  street  came  in, 
and,  with  eyes  moist  with  sympathy,  wrung  his 
hand.  He  stood  up  through  the  wild  tumult,  calm, 
dignified,  heroic,  because  conscious  of  rectitude. 

"  The  shrinkage  in  securities  will  be  great,  I  fear," 
he  said, "  but  I  think  my  assets  will  cover  all  liabili- 
ties. We  will  give  up  everything." 

When  he  came  up  home  in  the  evening,  he  looked 
worn,  and  much  older  than  in  the  morning,  but  his 
wife  and  daughters  seemed  to  envelop  him  in  an 


468  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DOf 

atmosphere  of  love  and  sympathy.  They  were  si 
strong,  cheerful,  hopeful,  that  they  infused  their 
courage  into  him.  Annie  ran  to  the  piano,  and 
played  as  if  inspired,  saying  to  her  father  : 

"  Let  every  note  tell  you  that  we  can  take  care 
ol  ourselves,  and  you  and  mother  too,  if  necessary." 

The  words  were  prophetic.  The  strain  had  been 
too  great  on  Mr.  Hart.  That  night  he  had  a  stroke 
of  paralysis  and  became  helpless.  But  he  had 
trained  his  daughters  to  be  the  very  reverse  of  help- 
less, and  they  did  take  care  of  him  with  the  most 
devoted  love  and  skilled  practical  energy,  making 
the  weak,  brief  remnant  of  his  life  not  a  burden,  but 
a  peaceful  evening  after  a  glorious  day.  They  all, 
except  the  youngest,  soon  found  employment,  for 
they  brought  superior  skill  and  knowledge  to  the 
labor  market,  and  such  are  ever  in  demand.  Annie 
soon  married  happily,  and  her  younger  sisters  event- 
ually followed  her  example.  But  Ella,  the  eldest,  re- 
mained single ;  and,  though  she  never  became  emi- 
nent as  an  artist,  did  become  a  very  useful  and 
respected  teacher  of  art,  as  studied  in  our  schools  as 
a  refining  accomplishment. 

To  return  to  Edith,  she  felt  for  her  kind  friends 
almost  as  much  as  if  she  were  one  of  the  family. 

"  Do  not  feel  that  you  must  go  away  because  c  f 
what  has  happened,"  said  Mrs.  Hart.  "  I  am  glad 
to  have  you  with  us,  for  you  do  us  all  good.  Indeed, 
you  seem  one  of  us.  Stay  as  long  as  you  can,  dear, 
and  God  help  us"  both  to  bear  our  burdens." 

"Dear,  'heavy-laden'  Mrs.   Hart,"  said    Edith. 


EDITH  BRINGS  THE  WANDERER  HOME.     469 

"  Jesus  will  bear  the  burdens  for  us,  if  we  will  let 
Him." 

"  Bless  you,  child,  I  am  sure  He  sent  you  to  me.' 

As  Edith  entered  the  ward  that  day,  the  attend- 
ant said,  "  She's  herself,  Miss,  at  last." 

Edith  stole  noiselessly  to  Zell's  cot.  She  was  sleep- 
ing. Edith  sat  down  silently  and  watched  for  her 
waking.  At  last  she  opened  her  eyes  and  glanced 
fearfully  around.  Then  she  saw  Edith,  and  instant- 
ly shrank  and  cowered  as  if  expecting  a  blow. 

"  Zell,"  said  Edith,  taking  the  poor,  thin  hand, 
"  O  Zell,  don't  you  know  me  ?  " 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  with  me  ?"  asked 
Zell,  in  a  voice  full  of  dread. 

"  Take  you  to  my  home — take  you  to  my  heart 
— take  you  deeper  into  my  love  than  ever  before." 

"  Edith,"  said  Zell,  almost  cowering  before  her 
words  as  if  they  hurt  her,  "  I  am  not  fit  to  go 
home." 

"  O  Zell,  darling,"  said  Edith,  tenderly,  "  God's 
love  does  not  keep  a  debit  and  credit  account  with 
us,  neither  should  we  with  each  other.  Can't  you 
see  that  I  love  you  ? "  and  she  showered  kisses  on 
her  sister's  now  pallid  face. 

But  Zell  acted  as  if  they  were  a  source  of  pain 
to  her,  and  she  muttered,  "  You  don't  know,  you 
can't  know.  Don't  speak  of  God  to  me,  I  fear  Him 
unspeakably." 

"  I  do  know  all,"  said  Edith,  earnestly,  «'  and  I 
love  you  more  fondly  than  ever  I  did  before,  and 
God  knows  and  loves  you  more  still." 


470  WffA  T  CAN  SHE  DOt 

"  I  tell  you  you  don't  know,"  said  Zell,  almost 
fiercely.  "  You  can't  know.  If  you  did,  you  would 
spit  on  me  and  leave  me  for  ever.  God  knows,  and 
he  has  doomed  me  to  hell,  Edith,"  she  added,  in  a 
hoarse  whisper.  "  I  killed  him — you  know  whom. 
And  I  promised  that  after  I  got  old  and  ugly  I 
would  come  and  torment  him  for  ever.  I  must  keep 
my  promise." 

Edith  wept  bitterly.  This  was  worse  than  deli- 
rium. She  saw  that  her  sister's  nature  was  so 
bruised  and  perverted,  so  warped  that  it  almost 
amounted  to  insanity.  She  slowly  rallied  back  into 
physical  strength,  but  her  hectic  cheek  and  slight 
cough  indicated  the  commencement  of  consump- 
tion. Her  mind  remained  in  the  same  unnatural 
condition,  and  she  kept  saying  to  Edith,  "  You 
don't  know  anything  about  it  all.  You  can't 
know."  She  would  not  see  Mrs.  Hart,  and  agreed 
to  go  home  with  Edith  only  on  condition  that 
no  one  should  see  or  speak  with  her  outside  the 
family. 

At  last  the  day  of  departure  came.  Mrs.  Hart 
said  :  "  You  shall  take  her  to  the  depot  in  my  car 
riage.  It  will  be  among  its  last  and  best  uses." 

Edith  kissed  her  kind  friend  good-bye,  saying, 
"  God  will  send  his  chariot  for  you  some  day,  and 
though  you  must  leave  this,  your  beautiful  home,  if 
you  could  only  have  a  glimpse  into  the  Mansion 
preparing  for  you  up  there,  anticipation  would 
almost  banish  all  thoughts  of  present  loss." 

"  Well,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Hart,  with  a  gleam  of 


EDITH  BRINGS  THE  WANDERER  HOME.     471 

her  old  humor,  "  I  hope  your '  Mansion '  will  be  r/ext 
door,  for  I  shall  want  to  see  you  often  through  all 
eternity." 

Then  Edith  knelt  before  Mr.  Hart's  chair,  and  the 
old  man's  helpless  hands  were  lifted  upon  her  head, 
and  he  looked  to  heaven  for  the  blessing  he  could 
not  speak. 

"  Our  ways  diverge  now,  but  they  will  all  meet 
again.  Home  is  near  to  you,"  she  whispered  in  his 
ear  as  she  kissed  him  good-bye. 

The  old  glad  light  shone  in  his  eyes,  the  old 
cheery  smile  flitted  across  his  lips,  and  thus  she  left 
him  who  had  been  the  great,  rich  banker,  serene, 
happy,  and  rich  in  a  faith  that  could  not  be  lost  in 
any  financial  storm,  or  destroyed  by  disease,  or  en- 
feebled by  age,  she  left  him  waiting  as  a  little  child 
to  go  home 


.  CHAPTER   XXXIII. 
EDITH'S  GREAT  TEMPTATION. 

rpHOUGH  even  Mrs.  Allen  was  tearful  and  kind 
-*-  in  her  greeting,  and  Laura  warm  and  affection- 
ate in  the  extreme,  old  Hannibal's  welcome,  so 
frank,  genuine,  and  innocent,  seemed  to  soften  Zell 
more  than  any  one's  else. 

"  You  poor,  heavenly-minded  old  fool,"  she  said, 
with  an  unwonted  tear  in  her  eye,  "  you  don't  know 
any  better." 

Then  she  seemed  to  settle  down  into  a  dreamy 
apathy ;  to  sit  moping  around  in  shadowy  places. 
She  had  a  horror  of  meeting  any  one,  even  Mrs. 
Lacey  and  Rose,  and  would  not  go  out  till  after 
night.  Edith  saw,  more  and  more  clearly,  that  she 
was  almost  insane  in  her  shame  and  despair,  and 
that  she  would  be  a  terrible  burden  to  them  all  if 
she  remained  in  such  a  condition  ;  but  her  love  and 
patience  did  not  fail.  It  would,  had  it  not  been 
daily  fed  from  heavenly  sources.  "  I  must  try  to 
show  her  Jesus'  love  through  mine,"  she  thought. 

Poor  Edith,  the  great  temptation  of  her  life  was 
soon  to  assail  her.  It  was  aimed  at  her  weakest 
yet  noblest  side,  her  young  enthusiasm  and  spirit  of 
self-sacrifice  for  others.  And  yet,  it  was  but  the 
natural  fruit  of  woman's  helplessness  and  Mrs. 


EDITH'S  GREAT  TEMPTATION.  473 

Allen's  policy  of  marrying  one's  way  out  of  poverty 
and  difficulty. 

Simon  Crowl  had  ostensibly  made  a  very  fair 
transaction  with  Edith,  but  Simon  Crowl  was  a 
widower  at  the  time,  and  on  the  lookout  for  a  wife. 
He  was  a  pretty  sharp  business-man,  Crowl  was,  or 
he  wouldn't  have  become  so  rich  in  little  Pushton, 
and  he  at  once  was  satisfied  that  Edith,  so  beautiful, 
so  sensible,  would  answer.  Through  the  mortgage 
he  might  capture  her,  as  it  were,  for  even  his  vanity 
did  not  promise  him  much  success  in  the  ordinary 
ways  of  love-making.  So  the  spider  spun  his  web, 
and  unconscious  Edith  was  the  poor  little  fly. 
During  the  summer  he  watched  her  closely,  but  from 
a  distance.  During  the  autumn  and  winter  he  com- 
menced calling,  ostensibly  on  Mrs.  Allen,  whom  he 
at  once  managed  to  impress  with  the  fact  that  he 
was  very  rich.  Though  he  brushed  up  his  best  coat 
and  manners,  that  delicate-nosed  lady  scented  an 
air  and  manner  very  different  from  what  she  had 
been  accustomed  to,  but  she  was  half-dead  with 
gnnuit  and,  after  all,  there  was  something  akin  be- 
tween worldly  Mrs.  Allen  and  worldly  Mr.  Crowl. 
Then,  he  was  very  rich.  This  had  covered  a  multi- 
tude of  sins  on  the  Avenue.  But,  in  the  miserable 
poverty  of  Pushton,  it  was  a  golden  mantle  of  light. 
Mrs.  Allen  chafed  at  privation  and  want  of  delica- 
cies, with  the  increasing  persistency  of  an  utterly 
weak  and  selfish  nature.  She  had  no  faith  in  Edith's 
plans,  and  no  faith  in  woman's  working,  and  the 
garden  seemed  the  wildest  dream  of  all.  Her  hard, 


474  WHAT  C4X  SHE  DOt 

narrow  logic,  constantly  dinned  into  her  ears,  dis- 
couraged Edith,  and  she  began  to  doubt  herself. 

Mr.  Crowl  (timid  lover)  had  in  Edith's  absence 
confirmed  his  previous  hints,  thrown  out  to  Mrs. 
Allen  as  feelers,  by  making  a  definite  proposition. 
In  brief,  he  had  offered  to  settle  twenty-five  thou- 
sand dollars  on  Edith  the  day  she  married  him,  and 
to  take  care  of  the  rest  of  the  family. 

"  I  have  made  enough,"  he  said  majestically, 
"  to  live  the  rest  of  my  life  like  a  gentleman,  and 
this  offer  is  princely,  if  I  say  it  myself.  You  can 
all  ride  in  your  carriage  again."  Then  he  added, 
with  his  little  black  eyes  growing  hard  and  cunning, 
"If  your  daughter  won't  accept  my  generosity,  our 
relationship  becomes  merely  one  of  business.  Of 
course  I  will  foreclose.  Money  is  scarce  here,  and  I 
will  probably  be  able  to  buy  in  the  place  at  half  its 
worth.  Seems  to  me,"  he  concluded,  looking  at 
the  case  from  his  valuation  of  money,  "  there  is  not 
much  room  for  choice  here." 

And  Mr.  Crowl  had  been  princely  —  for  him. 
Mrs.  Allen  thought  so  too,  and  lent  herself  to  the 
scheme  with  all  the  persistent  energy  that  she  could 
show  in  these  matters.  But,  to  do  her  justice,  she 
really  thought  she  was  doing  what  was  best  for 
Edith  and  them  all.  She  was  acting  in  accord- 
ance with  her  life-long  principle  of  providing  for 
her  family,  in  the  one  way  she  believed  in  and 
understood.  But  sincerity  and  singleness  of  pur- 
pose made  her  all  the  more  dangerous  a  tempter. 

In  one  of  Edith's  most  discouraged  moods  she 


EDlTti'S  GREAT  TEMPTATION.  475 

broached  the  subject  and  explained  Mr.  Growl's 
offer,  for  he,  prudent  man,  had  left  it  to  her. 

Edith  started  violently,  and  the  whole  thing  was 
so  revolting  to  her  that  she  fled  from  the  room. 
But  Mrs.  Allen,  with  her  small  pertinacity,  kept  re- 
curring to  it  at  every  opportunity.  Though  it  may 
seem  a  little  strange,  her  mother's  action  did  not  so 
shockEdithassomemight  expect;  nordid  the  propo- 
sition even  seem  so  impossible  as  it  might  to  some 
girls.  She  had  been  accustomed,  through  her 
mother,  to  the  idea  of  marrying  for  money  all  her 
life,  and  we  can  get  used  to  about  everything. 

In  March  their  money  was  very  low.  Going  to 
Zell  and  taking  care  of  her  had  involved  much 
additional  expense.  She  found  out  that  her  mother 
had  already  accepted  and  used  in  part  a  loan  of  fifty 
dollars  fiom  Mr.  Crowl.  Laura,  from  the  long 
confinement  of  the  winter,  and  from  living  on  fare 
too  coarse  and  lacking  in  nutrition  for  her  delicate 
organization,  was  growing  very  feeble.  Zell  seemed 
in  the  first  stages  of  consumption,  and  would  soon 
be  a  sick,  helpless  burden.  The  chill  of  dread  grew 
stronger  at  Edith's  heart. 

"  Oh,  can  it  be  possible  that  I  shall  be  driven  to 
it !  "  she  often  groaned  ;  and  she  now  saw,  as  poor 
Laura  said,  "  the  black  hand  in  the  dark  pushing 
her  down."  To  her  surprise  her  thoughts  kept  re- 
verting to  Arden  Lacey. 

"  What  will  he  think  of  me  if  I  do  this  ? "  she 
thought,  with  intense  bitterness.  "  He  will  tell  me 
I  was  not  worthy  of  his  friendship,  much  less  of  his 


476  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DO1 

love — that  I  deceived  him ;"  and  the  thought  ol 
Arden,  after  all,  perhaps,  had  the  most  weight  in 
restraining  her  from  the  fatal  step.  For  then,  to 
her  perverted  sense  of  duty,  this  marriage  began  to 
seem  like  a  heroic  self-sacrifice. 

She  had  seen  little  of  Arden  since  her  return. 
He  was  kind  and  respectful  as  ever,  outwardly,  but 
she  saw  in  his  deep  blue  eyes  that  she  was  the 
divinity  that  he  still  worshipped  with  unfaltering 
devotion,  and  as  she  once  smiled  at  the  idea  of  be- 
ing set  up  as  an  idol  in  his  heart,  she  now  began  to 
dread  falling  from  her  pedestal  unspeakably. 

One  dreary  day,  the  last  of  March,  when  sleet 
and  rain  were  pouring  steadily  down,  and  Laura 
was  sick  in  her  bed,  and  Zell  moping  with  her 
hacking  cough  over  the  fire,  with  Hannibal  in  the 
kitchen,  Mrs.  Allen  turned  suddenly  to  Edith,  and 
said  : 

"  On  some  such  day  we  will  all  be  turned  into 
the  street.  You  could  save  us,  you  could  save 
yourself,  by  taking  a  kind,  rich  man  for  your  lawful 
husband  ;  but  you  won't." 

Then  Satan,  who  is  always  on  hand  when  we 
are  weakest,  quoted  Scripture  to  Edith  as  he  did 
once  before.  The  words  flashed  into  her  mind, 
•'  He  saved  others,  himself  he  cannot  save." 

In  a  wild,  mingled  moment  of  enthusiasm  and 
desperation,  she  sprang  up  before  her  mother,  and 
said,  "  If  I  can't  pay  the  interest  of  the  mortgage — 
if  I  can't  take  care  of  you  all  by  some  kind  of  work, 
I  will  marry  him  But  if  you  have  a  spark  of  love 


ED/TITS  GREAT  TEMPTATION.  477 

for  me,  save,  economize,  try  to  think  of  some  other 
way." 

Mrs.  Allen  smiled  triumphantly,  and  tried  in  her 
gratitude  to  embrace  her  daughter,  saying,  "  A  kind 
husband  will  soon  lift  all  burdens  off  your  shoul- 
ders." The  burden  on  the  heart  Mrs.  Allen  did  not 
understand,  but  Edith  fled  from  her  to  her  own 
room. 

In  a  little  while  her  excitement  and  enthusiasm 
died  away,  and  life  began  to  look  gaunt  and  bare. 
Even  her  Saviour's  face  seemed  hidden,  and  she 
only  saw  an  ugly  spectre  in  the  future — Simon 
Growl. 

In  vain  she  repeated  to  herself,  "  He  sacrificed 
Himself  for  others— so  will  I."  The  nature  that 
He  had  given  her  revolted  at  it  all,  and  though  she 
could  not  understand  it,  she  began  to  find  a  jarring 
discord  between  herself  and  all  things. 

Mrs.  Allen  told  Mr.  Crowl  of  her  success,  and  he 
looked  upon  things  as  settled.  He  came  to  the 
house  quite  often,  but  did  not  stay  long  or  assume 
any  familiarity  with  Edith.  He  was  a  wary  old 
spider;  and  under  Mrs.  Allen's  hints,  behaved  and 
looked  very  respectably.  He  certainly  did  the 
best  he  could  not  to  appear  hideous  to  Edith,  and 
though  she  was  very  cold,  she  compelled  herself 
to  treat  him  civilly. 

Perhaps  many  might  have  considered  Edith's 
chance  a  very  good  one ;  but  with  an  almost  des- 
perate energy  she  set  her  mind  at  work  to  find  some 
other  way  out  of  her  painful  straits.  Everything, 


478  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOf 

however,  seemed  against  her.  Mr.  McTrump  was 
sick  with  inflammatory  rheumatism.  Mrs.  Groody 
was  away,  and  would  not  be  back  till  the  last  of  May. 
On  account  of  Arden  she  could  not  speak  to  Mrs.  La- 
cey.  She  tried  in  vain  to  get  work,  but  at  that  season 
there  was  nothing  in  Pushton  which  she  could  do. 
Farmers  were  beginning  to  get  out  a  little  on  their 
wet  lands,  and  various  out-of-door  activities  to  re- 
vive after  the  winter  stagnation.  Moreover,  money 
was  very  scarce  at  that  season  of  the  year.  She  at 
last  turned  to  the  garden  as  her  only  resource.  She 
realized  that  she  had  scarcely  money  enough  to  carry 
them  through  May.  Could  *he  get  returns  from 
her  garden  in  time  ?  Could  it  be  made  to  yield 
enough  to  support  them  ?  With  ax\  almost  desperate 
energy  she  worked  in  it  whenever  the  weather  per- 
mitted through  April,  and  kept  I '\annibal  at  it  also. 
Indeed,  she  had  little  mercy  on  the  old  man,  and  he 
wondered  at  her.  One  day  he  ventured  : 

"  Miss  Edie,  you  jes  done  kill  us  W"h,"  but  hij 
wonder  increased  as  she  muttered  ; 

"  Perhaps  it  would  be  the  best  thing  fo\  us  both." 
Then,  seeing  his  panic-stricken  face,  she  abided  more 
kindly,  "  Hannibal,  our  money  is  getting  low.  and 
the  garden  is  our  only  chance." 

After  that  he  worked  patiently  without  a  word 
and  without  a  thought  of  sparing  himself. 

Edith  insisted  on  the  closest  economy  in  the 
house,  though  she  was  too  sensible  to  stint  herself 
in  food  in  view  of  her  constant  toil.  But  one  day 
she  detected  Mrs.  Alien  with  her  small  cunninar  and 


EDI  TII'S  GREA  T  TEMP  TA  TION.  479 

determination  to  carry  her  point,  practising  a  little 
wastefulness.  Edith  turned  on  her  with  such  fierce- 
ness that  she  never  dared  repeat  the  act.  Indeed, 
Edith  was  becoming  very  much  what  she  was  before 
Zell  ran  away,  only  in  addition  there  was  something 
akin,  at  times,  to  Zell's  own  hardness  and  reckless- 
ness, and  one  day  she  said  to  Edith : 

"What  is  the  matter?  You  are  becoming  like 
me." 

Edith  fled  to  her  room,  and  sobbed  and  cried  and 
tried  to  pray  till  her  strength  was  gone.  The  sweet 
trust  and  peace  she  once  enjoyed  seemed  like  a 
past  dream.  She  was  learning  by  bitter  experience 
that  it  can  never  be  right  to  do  wrong ;  and  that  a 
first  false  step,  like  a  false  premise,  leads  to  sad 
conclusions. 

She  had  insisted  that  her  mother  should  not 
speak  of  the  matter  till  it  became  absolutely  neces- 
sary, therefore  Laura,  Zell,  and  none  of  her  friends 
could  understand  her. 

Arden  was  the  most  puzzled  and  pained  of  all, 
for  she  shrank  from  him  with  increasing  dread.  He 
was  now  back  at  his  farm  work,  though  he  saici  to 
Edith  one  day  despondently  that  he  had  no  heurt 
to  work,  for  the  mortgage  on  their  place  would  prob- 
ably be  foreclosed  in  the  Fall.  She  longed  to  tell 
him  how  she  was  situated,  but  she  saw  he  was  un- 
able to  help  her,  and  she  dreaded  to  see  the  scora 
come  into  his  trusting,  loving  eyes ;  she  could  not 
endure  his  absolute  confidence  in  her,  and  in  his 
presence  her  heart  ached  as  if  it  would  break,  so 


4.80  MM  T  CAN  SHE  DOt 

she  shunned  him  till  he  grew  very  unhappy,  and 
sighed : 

"  There's  something  wrong.  She  finds  I  am  not 
congenial.  I  shall  lose  her  friendship,"  and  his  ach- 
ing heart  also  admitted,  as  never  before,  how  dear 
it  was  to  him. 

Nature  was  awakening  with  the  rapture  of 
another  Spring;  birds  were  coming  back  to  old 
haunts  with  ecstatic  songs  ;  flowers  budding  into 
their  brief  but  exquisite  life,  and  the  trees  aglow 
with  fragrant  prophecies  of  fruit ;  but  a  Winter  of 
fear  and  doubt  was  chilling  these  two  hearts  into 
something  far  worse  than  Nature's  seeming  death. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

SAVED. 

EDITH'S  efforts  still  to  help  Zell  to  better 
things  were  very  pathetic,  considering  how  un- 
happy and  tempted  she  was  herself.  She  did  try, 
even  when  her  own  heart  was  breaking,  to  bring 
peace  and  hope  to  the  poor  creature,  but  she  was 
iaught  how  vain  her  efforts  were,  in  her  present 
mood,  by  Zell's  saying,  sharply, 

"  Physician,  heal  thyself." 

Though  Zell  did  not  understand  Edith,  she  saw 
that  she  was  almost  as  unhappy  as  herself,  and  she 
had  lost  hope  in  everybody  and  everything.  Though 
she  had  not  admitted  it,  Edith's  words  and  kind- 
ness at  first  had  excited  her  wonder,  and,  perhaps, 
a  faint  glimmer  of  hope ;  but,  as  she  saw  her  sister's 
face  cloud  with  care,  and  darken  with  pain  and 
fear,  she  said,  bitterly, 

"Why  did  she  talk  with  me  so?  It  was  all  a 
delusion.  What  is  God  doing  for  her  any  more 
than  for  me?" 

But,  in  order  to  give  Zell  occupation,  and  some- 
thing to  think  about  beside  herself,  Edith  had  in- 
duced her  to  take  charge  of  the  flowers  in  the 
garden. 

21 


482  WIIA  T  CAK  SHE  DO  t 

"  They  won't  grov/  for  me,"  Zell  had  said  at  first; 
*  They  will  wither  when  I  look  at  them,  and  white 
blossoms  will  turn  black  as  I  bend  over  them." 

"Nonsense  !"  said  Edith,  with  irritation ;  "Won't 
you  do  anything  to  help  me  ?  " 

"  Oh,  certainly,"  wearily  answered  Zell.  "  I  will 
do  the  work  just  as  you  tell  me.  If  they  do  die,  it 
don't  matter.  We  can't  eat  or  sell  them."  So  Zell 
began  to  take  care  of  the  flowers,  doing  the  work  in 
a  stealthy  manner,  and  hiding  when  anyone  came. 

The  month  of  May  was  unusually  warm,  and 
Edith  was  glad,  for  it  would  hasten  things  forward. 
That  upon  which  she  now  bent  almost  agonized 
effort  and  thought  was  the  possibility  of  paying  the 
interest  on  the  mortgage  by  the  middle  of  June, 
when  it  was  due.  All  hope  concentrated  on  her 
strawberries,  as  they  would  be  the  first  crop  worth 
mentioning  that  she  could  depend  on  from  her  place. 
She  gave  the  plants  the  most  careful  attention.  Not 
a  weed  was  suffered  to  grow,  and  between  the  rows 
she  placed  carefully,  with  her  own  hands,  leaves  she 
raked  up  in  the  orchard,  so  that  the  ground  might 
be  kept  moist  and  the  fruit  clean.  Almost  every 
hour  of  the  day  her  eyes  sought  the  strawberry  bed, 
as  the  source  of  her  hope.  If  that  failed  her,  no 
bleeding  human  sacrifice  in  all  the  cruel  past  could 
surpass  the  agony  of  her  fate. 

The  vines  commenced  blossoming  with  great 
promise,  and  at  first  she  almost  counted  them  in 
her  eager  expectation.  Then  the  long  rows  looked 
like  little  banks  of  snow,  and  she  exulted  over  th» 


SA  VED.  483 

prospect.  Laura  was  once  about  to  pick  one  of  the 
blossoms,  but  she  stopped  her  almost  fiercely.  She 
would  get  up  in  the  night,  and  stand  gazing  at  the 
lines  of  white,  as  she  could  trace  them  in  the  dark- 
ness  across  the  garden.  So  the  days  passed  on  till 
the  last  of  May,  and  the  blossoms  grew  scattering, 
but  there  were  multitudes  of  little  green  berries, 
from  the  size  of  a  pea  to  that  of  her  thimble,  and 
some  of  them  began  to  have  a  white  look.  She 
watched  them  develop  so  minutely  that  she  could 
have  almost  defined  the  progress  day  by  day.  Once 
Zell  looked  at  her  wonderingly,  and  said  : 

"  Edith,  you  are  crazy  over  that  strawberry  bed. 
I  believe  you  worship  it." 

For  a  time  Edith's  hopes  daily  rose  higher  as  the 
vines  gave  finer  promise,  but  during  the  last  week  of 
May  a  new  and  terrible  source  of  danger  revealed 
itself,  a  danger  that  she  knew  not  how  to  cope 
with — drought. 

It  had  not  rained  since  the  middle  of  May.  She 
saw  that  many  of  her  young  and  tender  vegetables 
were  wilting,  but  the  strawberries,  mulched  with 
leaves,  did  not  appear  to  mind  it  at  first.  Still  she 
knew  they  would  suffer  soon,  unless  there  was  rain. 
Most  anxiously  she  watched  the  skies.  Their 
sereneness  mocked  her  when  she  was  so  clouded 
with  care.  Wild  storms  would  be  better  than  these 
balmy,  sunny  days. 

The  first  of  June  came,  the  second,  third,  and 
fourth,  and  here  and  there  a  berry  was  turning  red, 
but  the  vines  were  beginning  to  wilt.  The  suspense 


484  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOt 

became  so  great  she  could  hardly  endure  it.  Her 
faith  in  God  began  to  waver.  Every  breath  almost 
was  a  prayer  for  rain,  but  the  sunny  days  passed 
like  mocking  smiles. 

"  Is  there  a  God  ? "  she  queried  desperately. 
"  Can  I  have  been  deceived  in  all  my  past  happy 
experience  ?  "  She  shuddered  at  the  answer  that  the 
tempter  suggested,  and  yet,  like  a  diuvvning  man, 
she  tried  to  cling  to  her  faith. 

During  the  long  evenings,  she  and  Hannibal 
sought  to  save  the  bed  by  carrying  water  from  the 
well,  but  they  could  do  so  little,  it  only  seemed  to 
show  them  how  utterly  dependent  they  were  on  the 
natural  rain  from  heaven  ;  but  the  skies  seemed 
laughing  at  her  pain  and  fear.  Moreover,  she  noticed 
that  those  they  watered  appeared  injured  rather 
than  helped,  as  is  ever  the  case  where  it  is  insuffi- 
ciently done,  and  she  saw  that  she  must  helplessly 
wait. 

Arden  Lacey  had  been  away  for  a  week,  and, 
returning  in  the  dusk  of  the  evening,  saw  her  at 
work  watering,  before  she  had  come  to  this  conclu- 
sion. His  heart  was  hungry,  even  for  the  sight  of 
her,  and  he  longed  for  her  to  let  him  stop  for  a 
little  chat  as  of  old.  So  he  said,  timidly, 

"  Good  evening,  Miss  Allen,  haven't  you  a  word 
to  welcome  me  back  with  ?" 

"  Oh  !  "  cried  Edith,  not  heeding  his  salutation, 
"  why  don't  it  rain !  I  shall  lose  all  my  straw* 
berries." 

His  voice  jarred  upon  her  heart,  now  too  full,  and 


SAVED.  485 

she  ran  into  the  house  to  hide  her  feelings,  and  left 
him.  Even  the  thought  of  him  now,  in  her  morbid 
«tate.  began  to  pierce  her  like  a  sword. 

4  She  thinks  more  of  her  paltry  strawberry  bed 
than  of  me,"  muttered  Arden,  and  he  stalked 
angrily  homeward.  "  What  is  the  matter  with  Miss 
Allen?  "he  asked  his  mother  abruptly.  "I  don't 
understand  her." 

"  Nor  I  either,"  said  Mrs.  Lacey  with  a  sigh. 

The  next  morning  was  very  warm,  and  Edith  saw 
that  the  day  would  be  hotter  than  any  that  pre- 
ceded. A  dry  wind  sprang  up  and  it  seemed  worse 
than  the  sun.  The  vines  began  to  wither  early 
after  the  coolness  of  the  night,  and  those  she  had 
watered  suffered  the  most,  and  seemed  to  say  to 
her  mockingly, 

"  You  can't  do  anything." 

"  O  heaven,"  cried  Edith,  almost  in  desp<  ir, 
"  there  is  a  black  hand  pushing  me  down." 

In  an  excited,  feverish  manner  she  roamed  rest- 
lessly around  and  could  settle  down  to  nothing. 
She  scanned  the  horizon  for  a  cloud,  as  the  ship- 
wrecked might  for  a  sail. 

"  Edie,  what  is  the  matter?  "  said  Laura, puttii  g 
her  arms  about  her  sister. 

"  It  won't  rain,"  said  Edith,  bursting  into  tears. 
"  My  home,  my  happiness,  everything  depends  ON 
rain,  and  look  at  these  skies." 

"  But  won't  He  send  it  ?"  asked  Laura,  gently. 

"  Why  don't  He,  then  ?  "  said  Edith,  almost  i.l 
irritation.  Then,  in  a  sudden  passion  of  grief,  she 


486  WHA T  CAN  SHE  DO? 

hid  her  face  in  her  siste/'s  lap,  and  sobbed,  "  Olv. 
Laura,  Laura,  I  feel  I  am  losing  my  faith  in  Him. 
Why  does  He  treat  me  so  ?  " 

Here  Laura's  face  grew  troubled  and  fearful 
also.  Her  faith  in  Christ  was  so  blended  with  her 
faith  in  Edith  that  she  could  not  separate  them  in 
a  moment.  "  I  don't  understand  it,  Edie,"  she 
faltered.  "  He  seems  to  have  taken  care  of  me,  and 
has  been  very  kind  since  that — that  night.  But  I 
don't  understand  your  feeling  so." 

"Oh,  oh,  oh!"  sobbed  Edith,  "I  don't  know 
what  to  think — what  to  believe ;  and  I  fear  I  shall 
hurt  your  faith,"  and  she  shut  herself  up  in  her 
room,  and  looked  despairingly  out  to  where  the 
vines  were  drooping  in  the  fierce  heat. 

"  If  they  don't  get  help  to-day,  my  hopes 
will  wither  like  their  leaves,"  she  said,  with  pallid 
lips. 

As  the  sun  declined  in  the  west,  she  went  out 
and  stood  beside  them,  as  one  might  by  a  dying 
friend.  Her  fresh  young  face  seemed  almost  grow- 
ing aged  and  wrinkled  under  the  ordeal.  She  had 
prayed  that  afternoon,  as  never  before  in  her  life, 
for  help,  and  now,  with  a  despairing  gesture  up- 
ward,  she  said  : 

"  Look  at  that  brazen  sky !  " 

But  the  noise  of  the  opening  gate  caused  her  to 
look  thither,  and  there  was  Arden  entering,  with  a 
great  barrel  on  wheels,  which  was  drawn  by  a 
horse.  His  heart,  so  weak  toward  her,  had  relented 
during  the  day.  "I  vowed  to  serve  her,  and  I 


SA  VED.  48; 

will,"  he  thought.  "  I  will  be  her  slave,  if  she  will 
permit." 

Edith  did  not  understand  at  first,  and  he  came 
Coward  her  so  humbly,  as  if  to  ask  a  great  favor, 
that  it  would  have  been  comic,  had  not  his  sincerity 
made  it  pathetic. 

"  Miss  Allen,"  he  said,  "  I  saw  you  trying  to 
water  your  berries.  Perhaps  I  can  do  it  better,  as  I 
have  here  the  means  of  working  on  a  larger  scale." 

Edith  seized  his  hand  and  said,  with  tears  : 

"  You  are  like  an  angel  of  light ;  how  can  I  thank 
you  enough  ?  " 

Her  manner  puzzled  him  to-night  quite  as  much 
as  on  the  previous  occasion.  "  Why  does  she  act 
as  if  her  life  depended  on  these  few  berries  ? "  he 
vainly  asked  himself.  "  They  can't  be  so  poor  as 
to  be  in  utter  want.  I  wish  she  would  speak  frankly 
to  me." 

In  her  case,  as  in  thousands  of  others,  it  would 
have  been  so  much  better  if  she  had. 

Then  Edith  said,  a  little  dubiously,  "  I  hurt  the 
vines  when  I  tried  to  water  them." 

"  I  know  enough  about  gardening  to  understand 
that,"  said  Arden,  with  a  smile.  "  If  the  ground 
is  not  thoroughly  soaked  it  does  hurt  them.  But 
see,"  and  he  poured  the  water  around  the  vines  till 
the  dry  leaves  swam  in  it.  "  That  will  last  two 
days,  and  then  I  will  water  these  again.  I  can  go 
over  half  the  bed  thoroughly  one  night,  and  the 
other  half  the  next  night ;  and  so  we  will  keep 
them  along  till  rain  comes." 


488  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOt 

She  looked  at  him  as  if  he  were  a  messengef 
come  to  release  her  from  a  dungeon,  and  murmured, 
in  a  low,  sweet  voice  : 

"  Mr;  Lacey,  you  are  as  kind  as  a  brother  to 
me." 

A  warm  flush  of  pleasure  mantled  his  face  and 
neck,  and  he  turned  away  to  hide  his  feelings,  but 
said  : 

"  Miss  Edith,  this  is  nothing  to  what  I  would  do 
for  you." 

She  had  it  on  her  lips  to  tell  him  how  she  was 
situated,  but  he  hastened  away  to  fill  his  barrel  at  a 
neighboring  pond.  She  watched  him  go  to  and  fro 
in  his  rough,  working  garb,  and  he  seemed  to  her 
the  very  flower  of  chivalry. 

Her  eyes  grew  lustrous  with  admiration,  gratitude, 
hope,  and — yes,  love,  for  before  the  June  twilight 
deepened  into  night  it  was  revealed  in  the  depths 
of  her  heart  that  she  loved  Arden  Lacey,  and  that  was 
the  reason  that  she  had  kept  away  from  him  since 
she  had  made  the  hateful  promise.  She  had 
thought  it  only  friendship,  now  she  knew  that 
it  was  love,  and  that  his  scorn  and  anger  would 
be  the  bitterest  ingredient  of  all  in  her  self-immo- 
lation. 

For  two  long  hours  he  went  to  and  fro  unwearied- 
ly,  and  then  startled  her  by  saying  in  the  distance 
on  his  way  home,  "  I  will  come  again  to-morrow 
evening,"  and  was  gone.  He  was  afraid  of  himself, 
lest  in  his  strong  feeling  he  might  break  his  implied 
promise  not  even  to  suggest  his  love,  when  she 


SAVED.  489 

came  to  thank  him,  and  so,  in  self-distrustfulness, 
he  was  beginning  to  shun  her  also. 

An  unspeakable  burden  of  fear  was  lifted  fronj 
her  heart,  and  hope,  sweet,  warm,  and  rosy,  kept 
her  eyes  waking,  but  rested  her  more  than  sleep.  In 
the  morning  she  saw  that  the  watering  had  greatly 
revived  one  half  of  the  bed,  and  that  all  through  the 
hot  day  they  did  not  wilt,  while  the  unwatered  part 
looked  very  sick. 

Old  Crowl  also  had  seen  the  proceeding  in  the 
June  twilight,  and  did  not  like  it.  "  I  must  put  a 
spoke  in  his  wheel,"  he  said.  So  the  next  afternoon 
he  met  Arden  in  the  village,  and  blustered  up  to 
him,  saying ; 

"  Look  here,  young  Lacey,  what  were  you  doing 
at  the  Aliens'  last  night  ?  " 

"  None  of  your  business." 

"  Yes,  it  is  my  business,  too,  as  you  may  find  out 
to  your  cost.  I  am  engaged  to  marry  Miss  Edith 
Allen,  and  guess  it's  my  business  who's  hanging 
around  there.  I  warn  you  to  keep  away."  Mr. 
Crowl  had  put  the  case  truly,  and  yet  with  charac- 
teristic cunning.  He  was  positively  engaged  to 
Edith,  though  she  was  only  conditionally  engaged 
to  him. 

"  It's  an  accursed  lie,"  thundered  Arden,  livid 
with  rage,  "  and  I  warn  you  to  leave — you  make  me 
dangerous." 

"  Oh,  ho ;  touches  you  close,  does  it  ?  I  am 
sorry  for  you,  but  it's  true,  nevertheless." 

Arden  looked  as  if  he  would  rend  him,  but,  by  a 


490  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DO? 

great  effort  he  controlled  himself,  and  in  a  low ' 
meaning  voice  said, 

"If  you  have  lied  to  me  this  afternoon,  woe  be 
unto  you,"  and  he  turned  on  his  heel  and  walked 
straight  to  Edith,  where  she  stood  at  work  among 
her  grape-vines,  breaking  off  some  of  the  too  thickly 
budding  branches.  He  was  beside  her  before  she 
heard  him,  and  the  moment  she  looked  into  his 
white,  stern  face,  she  saw  that  something  had 
happened. 

"  Miss  Allen,"  he  said,  abruptly,  "  I  heard  a  re- 
port about  you  this  afternoon.  I  did  not  believe  it; 
I  could  not ;  but  it  came  so  direct,  that  I  give  you 
a  chance  to  refute  it.  Your  word  will  be  sufficient 
for  me.  It  would  be  against  all  the  world.  Is  there 
anything  between  you  and  Simon  Growl  ?  " 

Her  confusion  was  painful,  and  for  a  moment  she 
could  not  speak,  but  stood  trembling  before  him.  j 

In  his  passion,  he  seized  her  roughly  by  the  arm 
and  said,  hoarsely,  "  In  a  word,  yes  or  no  ?  " 

His  manner  offended  her  proud  spirit,  and  she 
looked  him  angrily  in  the  face  and  said,  haughtily 

"Yes." 

He  recoiled  from  her  as  if  he  had  been  stung. 

Her  anger  died  away  in  a  moment,  and  she  leaned 
against  the  grape-trellis  for  support.  j 

"  Do  you  love  him  ?  "  lie  faltered,  his  bronzedi 
cheek  blanching. 

"  No,"  she  gasped. 

The  blood  rushed  furiously  into  his  face,  and  he 
took  an  angry  stride  towards  her.  She  cowered 


SA  VED.  491 

before  him,  but  almost  wished  that  he  would  strike 
her  dead.  In  a  voice  hoarse  with  rage,  he  said,  . 

"  This,  then,  is  the  end  of  our  friendship.  This 
is  the  best  that  your  religion  has  taught  you.  If 
not  your  pitiful  faith,  then  has  not  your  woman's 
nature  told  you  that  neither  priest  nor  book  can 
marry  you  to  that  coarse  lump  of  earth  ?  "  and  he 
turned  on  his  heel  and  strode  away. 

1 1  is  mother  was  frightened  as  she  saw  his  face. 
'•  What  has  happened?  "  she  said,  starting  up.  He 
stared  at  her  almost  stupidly  for  a  moment.  Then 
he  said,  in  a  stony  voice, 

"  The  worst  that  ever  can  happen  to  me  in  this 
or  any  world.  If  the  lightning  had  burned  me  to  a 
cinder,  I  could  not  be  more  utterly  bereft  of  all  that 
tends  to  make  a  good  man.  Edith  Allen  has  sold 
herself  to  old  Growl.  Some  priest  is  going  through 
a  farce  they  will  call  a  marriage,  and  all  the  good 
people  will  say,  '  How  well  she  has  done!'  What  a 
miserable  delusion  this  religious  business  is !  You 
had  better  give  it  up,  mother,  as  I  do,  here  and 
now." 

"  Hush,  my  son,"  said  Mrs.  Lacey,  solemnly. 
"  You  have  only  seen  Edith  Allen.  I  have  seen 
Jesus  Christ  " 

•'  There  is  some  mystery  about  this,"  she  added, 
after  a  moment's  painful  thought.  "  I  will  go  and  see 
her  at  once." 

He  seized  her  hand,  saying : 

"  Have  I  not  been  a  good  son  to  you  ?  ** 

"  Yes,  Arden." 


492  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DO f 

"  Then  by  all  I  have  ever  been  to  you,  and  as 
you  wish  my  love  to  continue,  go  not  near  her 
again." 

"  But,  Arden  — " 

"  Promise  me,"  he  said,  sternly. 

"  Well,"  said  the  poor  woman,  with  a  deep  sigh, 
"  not  without  your  permission." 

From  that  time  forth,  Arden  seemed  as  if  made 
of  stone. 

After  he  was  gone  Edith  walked  with  uncertain 
steps  to  the  little  arbor,  and  sat  down  as  if  stunned. 
She  lost  all  idea  of  time.  After  it  was  dark,  Han- 
nibal called  her  in,  and  made  her  take  a  cup  of  tea. 
She  then  went  mechanically  to  her  room,  but  not  to 
sleep.  Arden's  dreadful  words  kept  repeating 
themselves  over  and  over  again. 

"  O  God ! "  she  exclaimed,  in  the  darkness, 
"  whither  am  I  drifting?  Must  I  be  driven  to  this 
awful  fate  in  order  to  provide  for  those  dependent 
upon  me  ?  Cannot  bountiful  Nature  feed  us  ?  Wilt 
Thou  not,  in  mercy,  send  one  drop  of  rain  ?  O 
Jesus,  where  is  Thy  mercy  ?  " 

Ihe  next  morning  the  skies  were  still  cloudless, 
and  she  scowled  darkly  at  the  sunny  dawn.  Then, 
in  sudden  alternation  of  mood,  she  stretched  her 
bare,  white  arms  toward  the  little  farm-house,  and 
sighed,  in  tones  of  tremulous  pathos: 

"  Oh,  Arden,  Arden,  I  would  rather  die  at  your 
feet  than  live  in  a  palace  with  him." 

She  sent  down  word  that  she  was  ill,  and  that  she 
would  not  come  down.  Laui  i,  Mrs.  Allen,  and  even 


!>A  VED.  493 

Zell,  came  to  her,  but  she  kissed  them  wearily,  and 
sent  them  away.  She  saw  that  there  was  deep 
anxiety  on  all  their  faces.  Pretty  soon  Hannibal 
came  up  with  a  cup  of  coffee. 

"  You  must  drink  it,  Miss  Edie,"  he  said.  "  cause 
ve'se  all  a  leanin'  on  you." 

Well-meaning  words,  but  tending  unconsciously 
to  confirm  her  desperate  purpose  to  sacrifice  herself 
for  them. 

She  lay  with  her  face  buried  in  the  pillow  all  day. 
She  knew  that  their  money  was  about  gone,  that 
provisions  were  scanty  in  the  house,  and  to  her 
morbid  mind  bags  of  gold  were  piled  up  before 
her,  and  Simon  Crowl,  as  an  ugly  spectre,  was  beck- 
oning her  towards  them. 

As  she  lay  in  a  dull  lethargy  of  pain  in  the  after- 
noon, a  heavy  jar  of  thunder  aroused  her.  She 
sprang  up  instantly,  and  ran  out  bare-headed  to  the 
little  rise  of  ground  behind  the  house,  and  there,  in 
the  west,  was  a  great  black  cloud.  The  darker  and 
nearer  it  grew,  the  more  her  face  brightened.  It 
was  a  strange  thing  to  see  that  fair  young  girl  look- 
ing toward  the  threatening  storm  with  eager,  glad 
expectancy,  as  if  it  were  her  lover.  The  heavy 
and  continued  roll  of  the  thunder,  like  the  ap- 
proaching roar  of  battle,  were  sweeter  to  her  than 
love's  whispers.  She  saw  with  dilating  eyes  the 
trees  on  the  distant  mountain's  brow  toss  and  writhe 
in  the  tempest ;  she  heard  the  fall  of  rain-drops  on 
the  foliage  of  the  mountain's  side  as  if  they  were 
the  feet  of  an  army  coming  to  her  rescue.  A  fe\v 


494  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  D0t 

large  ones,  mingled  with  hail,  fell  arounc  her  like 
scattering  shots,  and  she  put  out  her  hands  to  catch 
them.  The  fierce  gusts  caught  up  her  loosened  hair 
and  it  streamed  away  behind  her.  There  was  a 
blinding  flash,  and  the  branches  of  a  tall  locust  near 
came  quivering  down — she  only  smiled. 

But  dismay  and  trembling  fear  overwhelmed  her 
as  the  shower  passed  on  to  the  north.  She  could 
see  it  raining  hard  a  mile  away,  but  the  drops  ceased 
to  fall  around  her.  The  deep  reverberations  rolled 
away  in  the  distance,  and  in  the  west  there  was  a 
long  line  of  light.  As  the  twilight  deepened,  the 
whole  storm  was  below  the  horizon,  only  sending 
up  angry  flashes  as  it  thundered  on  to  parts  un- 
known. With  clasped  hands  and  despairing  eyes, 
Edith  gazed  after  it,  as  the  wrecked  floating  on  a 
raft  might  watch  a  ship  sail  away,  and  leave  them 
to  perish  on  the  wide  ocean. 

She  walked  slowly  down  to  the  little  arbor,  and 
leaned  wearily  back  on  the  rustic  seat.  She  saw 
night  come  on  in  breathless  peace.  Not  a  leaf 
stirred.  She  saw  the  moon  rise  over  the  eastern 
hills,  as  brightly  and  serenely  as  if  its  rays  would  not 
fall  on  one  sad  face. 

Hannibal  called,  but  she  did  not  answer.  Then 
he  came  out  to  her,  and  put  the  cup  of  tea  to  her 
lips,  and  made  her  drink  it.  She  obeyed  mechani- 
cally. 

"  Poor  chile,  poor  chile,"  he  murmured,  "  I  wisli 
ole  Hannibal  could  die  for  you." 

She  lifted  her  face  to  him  with  such  an  expression. 


SA  VED.  495 

that  he  hastened  away  to  hide  his  tears  But  she 
sat  still,  as  if  in  a  dream,  and  yet  she  felt  that  the 
crisis  had  come,  and  that  before  she  left  that  place 
she  must  come  to  some  decision.  Reason  would  be 
dethroned  if  she  lived  much  longer  in  such  suspense 
and  irresolution  And  yet  she  sat  still  in  a  dreamy 
stupor,  the  reaction  of  her  strong  excitement.  It 
seemed,  in  a  certain  sense,  peaceful  and  painless, 
and  she  did  not  wish  to  goad  herself  out  of  it. 

"  It  may  be  like  the  last  sleep  before  execution," 
she  thought,  "  therefore  make  the  most  of  it,"  and 
her  thoughts  wandered  at  will. 

A  late  robin  came  flying  home  to  the  arbor  where 
the  nest  was,  and  having  twittered  out  a  little  ves- 
per-song, put  its  he?'!  under  its  wing,  near  his  mate, 
which  sat  brooding  in  the  nest  over  some  little 
brown  eggs,  and  the  thought  stole  into  her  heart, 
"  Will  God  take  care  rf.  them  and  not  me  ?  "  and  she 
watched  the  peaceful  sleep  of  the  family  over  her 
head  as  if  it  were  an  emblem  of  faith. 

Then  a  sudden  bn-eze  swept  a  spray  of  roses 
against  her  face,  and  their  delicate  perfume  was  like 
the  "  still  small  voic^  "  of  love,  and  the  thought 
passed  dreamily  acros?  Edith's  mind,  "  Will  God  do 
so  much  for  that  little  duster  of  roses  and  yet  dc 
nothing  for  me." 

How  near  the  Father  was  to  his  child.  In  this 
calm  that  followed  her  !ong  passionate  struggle,  1 1  is 
mighty  but  gentle  Spirit  could  make  itself  feltj  and 
it  stole  into  the  poor  girl's  bruised  heart  with 
heavenly  sug^e^tiop  anc?  Dealing  Doiver.  The  happy 


496  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DO? 

days  when  she  followed  Jesus  and  sat  daily  at  His 
feet  were  recalled.  Her  sin  was  shown  to  her,  not 
in  anger,  but  in  the  loving  reproachfulness  of  the 
Saviour's  look  upon  faithless  Peter,  and  a  voice 
seemed  to  ask  in  her  soul,  "  How  could  you  turn 
away  your  trust  from  Him  to  anything  else  ?  How 
could  you  think  it  right  to  do  so  great  a  wrong  ? 
How  could  you  so  trample  upon  the  womanly  na- 
ture that  He  gave  you  as  to  think  of  marrying 
where  neither  love  nor  God  would  sanction?  " 

Jesus  seemed  to  stand  before  her,  and  point  up  to 
the  robins,  saying,  "  I  feed  them.  I  fed  the  five  thou- 
sand. I  feed  the  world.  I  can  feed  you  and 
yours.  Trust  Me.  Do  right.  In  trying  to  save 
yourself  you  will  destroy  yourself." 

With  a  divine  impulse,  she  threw  herself  on  the 
floor  of  the  arbor,  and  cried, 

"  Jesus,  I  cast  myself  at  Thy  feet.  I  throw  myself 
on  thy  mercy.  When  I  look  the  world  around, 
away  from  Thee,  I  see  only  fear  and  torment.  If 
1  die,  I  will  perish  at  thy  feet." 

Was  it  the  moonlight  only  that  made  the  night 
luminous?  No,  for  the  glory  of  the  Lord  shone 
around,  and  the  peace  that  "passeth  all  under- 
standing" came  flowing  into  her  soul  like  a  shining 
river.  The  ugly  phantoms  that  had  haunted  her, 
vanished.  The  "  black  hand  that  seemed  pushing 
her  down,"  became  her  Father's  hand,  shieldLg 
and  sustaining. 

She  rose  as  calm  and  serene  as  the  summer  even- 
ing and  went  straight  to  Mrs.  Allen's  room  and  said 


SAVED.  497 

"  Mother,  I  will  never  marry  Simon  Growl." 
Her  mother  began  to  cry,  and  say  piteously, 
"  Then  we  shall  all  be  turned  into  the  street." 
"What  the  future  will  be  I  can't  tell,"  said  Edith, 
gently,  but  firmly,  "  I  will  work  for  you,  I  will  beg 
for  you,  I  will   starve  with  you,  but  I  will  never 
marry  Simon  Crowl,  nor  any  other  man  that  I  do 
not  love."     And  pressing  a  kiss  on  her  mother's 
face,  she  went  to  her  room,  and  soon  was  lost  in 
the  first  refreshing  sleep  that  she  had  had  for  a  long 
time. 

She  was  wakened  toward  morning  by  the  sound 
of  rain,  and,  starting  up,  heard  its  steady,  copious 
downfall.  In  a  sudden  ecstacy  of  gratitude  she 
sprang  up,  opened  the  blinds  and  looked  out.  The 
moon  had  gone  down,  and  through  the  darkness 
the  rain  was  falling  heavily ;  she  felt  it  upon  her 
forehead,  her  bare  neck  and  arms,  and  it  seemed  to 
her  Heaven's  own  baptism  into  a  new  and  strongef 
faith  and  a  happier  life. 


CHAPTER   XXXV. 

CLOSING  SCENES. 

THE  clouds  were  clearing  away  when  Edith 
came  down  late  the  next  morning,  and  all 
saw  that  the  clouds  had  passed  from  her  brow. 

"Bress  de  Lord,  Miss  £die,  you'se  yoursef 
again!"  said  Hannibal,  joyfully.  "  I  neber  see  a 
shower  do  such  a  heap  ob  good  afore." 

"  No,"  said  Edith,  sadly  ;  "  I  was  myself.  I  lost 
my  Divine  Friend  and  Helper,  and  I  then  became 
myself — poor,  weak,  faulty  Edith  Allen.  But, 
thanks  to  His  mercy,  I  have  found  Him  again,  and 
so  hope  to  be  the  better  self  that  He  helped  me  to 
be  before." 

Zell  looked  at  her  with  a  sudden  wonder,  and 
went  out  and  stayed  among  her  flowers  all  day. 

Laura  came  and  put  her  arms  around  her  neck, 
and  said,  "  O  Edie,  I  am  so  glad  !  What  you  said 
set  me  to  fearing  and  doubting  ;  but  I  am  sure  we 
can  trust  Him." 

Mrs.  Allen  sighed  drearily,  and  said,  "  I  don't 
understand  it  at  all." 

But  old  Hannibal  slapped  his  hands  in  true 
Methodist  style,  exclaiming,  "  Dat's  it !  Trow 
away  de  ole  heart!  Get  a  new  one!  Bress  de 
Lord  !  " 


CLOSING  SCENES.  499 

Edith  went  out  into  the  garden,  and  saw  that 
there  were  a  great  many  berries  ripe  ;  then  she 
hastened  to  the  hotel,  and  said  : 

"  O  Mrs.  Groody,  for  Heaven's  sake,  won't  you 
help  me  sell  my  strawberries  up  here?  " 

"  Yes,  my  dear,"  was  the  hearty  response :  "  both 
for  your  sake  and  the  strawberries,  too.  We  get 
them  from  the  city,  and  would  much  rather  have 
fresh  country  ones." 

Edith  returned  with  her  heart  thrilling  with  hope, 
and  set  to  work  picking  as  if  every  berry  was  a 
ruby,  and  in  a  few  hours  she  had  six  quarts  of  fra- 
grant fruit.  Malcom  had  lent  her  little  baskets, 
and  Hannibal  took  them  up  to  the  hotel,  for  Arden 
would  not  even  look  toward  the  little  cottage  any 
more.  The  old  servant  came  back  grinning  with 
delight,  and  gave  Edith  a  dollar  and  a  half. 

The  next  day  ten  quarts  brought  two  dollars  and 
a  half.  Then  they  began  to  ripen  rapidly,  the  rain 
having  greatly  improved  them,  and  Edith,  with  con- 
siderable help  from  the  others,  picked  twenty,  thirty, 
and  fifty  quarts  a  day.  She  employed  a  stout  boy 
from  the  village,  to  help  her,  and,  through  him,  she 
.  soon  had  quite  a  village  trade  also.  He  had  a  per- 
,  centage  on  the  sales,  and,  therefore,  was  very  sharp 
in  disposing  of  them. 

How  Edith  gloated  over  her  money;  how,  with 
more  than  miserly  eyes,  she  counted  it  over  every 
night,  and  pressed  it  to  her  lips. 

In  the  complete  absorption  of  the  past  few  weeks 
Edith  had  not  noticed  the  change  going  on  in  Zell. 


500  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DO? 

The  poor  creature  was  surprised  and  greatly 
pleased  that  the  flowers  grew  so  well  for  her.  Every 
opening  blossom  was  a  new  revelation,  and  theT 
sweet  perfume  stole  into  her  wounded  heart  lik? 
balm.  The  blue  violets  seemed  like  children's  eye.* 
peeping  timidly  at  her ;  and  the  pansies  looked  su 
bright  and  saucy  that  she  caught  herself  smiling 
back  at  them.  The  little  black  and  brown  seeds, 
she  planted  came  up  so  promptly  that  it  seemed  as 
if  they  wanted  to  see  her  as  much  as  she  did  them 
"  Isn't  it  queer,"  she  said  one  day  to  herself,  "  thav 
such  pretty  things  can  come  out  of  such  ugly  littlr 
things."  Nothing  in  Nature  seemed  to  turn  away 
from  her,  any  more  than  would  Nature's  God.  The 
dumb  life  around  began  to  speak  to  her  in  many  and 
varied  voices,  and  she  who  fled  from  companionship 
with  her  own  kind,  would  sit  and  chirp  and  talk  to 
the  birds,  as  if  they  understood  her.  And  they  did 
seem  to  grow  strangely  familiar,  and  would  almost 
eat  crumbs  out  of  her  hanck 

One  day  in  June  she  said  to  Hannibal,  who  was 
working  near,  "  Isn't  it  strange  the  flowers  grow  so 
well  for  me  ?  " 

"Why  shouldn't  dey  grow  for  you,  Miss  Zell?" 
asked  he,  straightening  his  old  back  up. 

"  Good,  innocent  Hannibal,  how  indeed  should 
you  know  anything  about  it  ?  "  • 

"  Yes,  I  does  know  all  about  it,"  said  he,  earnest- 
ly, and  he  came  to  her  where  she  stood  by  a  rose- 
bush. "  Does  you  see  dis  white  rose  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Zell,  "  it  opened  this  morning.  I'v« 
been  watching  it." 


CLOSING  SCENES.  jOl 

Poor  Hannibal  could  not  read  print,  fcv/i  he 
seemed  to  understand  this  exquisite  passage  Ha  Na- 
ture's open  book,  for  he  put  his  black  finge:  on  the 
rose  (which  made  it  look  whiter  than  before),  and 
commenced  expounding  it  as  a  preacher  mi{;ht  his 
text.  "  Now  look  at  it  sharp,  Miss  Zell,  'cause  it'll 
show  you  I  does  know  all  about  it.  It's  white, 
isn't  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Zell,  eagerly,  for  Hannibal  held  rhe 
attention  of  his  audience. 

"  Dat  means  pure,  doesn't  it  ?  "  continued  he 

"  Yes,"  said  Zell,  looking  sadly  down. 

"  And  it's  sweet,  isn't  it  ?     Now  dat  means  lab. 

And  Zell  looked  hopefully  up. 

*'  And  now,  dear  chile,"  said  he,  giving  her  a  little 
impressive  nudge,  "  see  whar  de  white  rose  come 
from — right  up  out  of  de  brack,  ugly  ground." 

Having  concluded  his  argument  and  made  his 
point,  the  simple  orator  began  his  application,  and 
Zell  was  leaning  toward  him  in  her  interest. 

"  De  good  Lord,  he  make  it  grow  to  show  what 
He  can  do  for  us.  Miss  Zell,"  he  said,  in  an  awed 
whisper,  "  my  ole  heart  was  as  brack  as  dat  ground, 
but  de  blessed  Jesus  turn  it  as  white  as  dis  rose. 
Miss  Edie,  Lor*  bless  her,  telled  me  'bout  Him,  and 
I'se  found  it  all  true.  Now,  doesn't  I  know  about 
it  ?  I  knows  dat  de  good  Jesus  can  turn  de  brack- 
est  heart  in  de  world  jes  like  dis  rose,  make  it  white 
and  pure,  and  fill  it  up  wid  de  sweetness  of  lub.  I 
knows  all  about  it." 

He  spoke  with  the  power  of  absolute  certainty 


502  WHA  T  CAN  SHE  DO  f 

and  strong  feelinj,  therefore,  his  hearer  was  deeply 
moved. 

"  Hannibal,"  she  said,  coming  close  to  him,  and 
putting  her  hand  on  his  shoulder,  "  do  you  think 
Jesus  could  turn  my  heart  white?" 

"  Sartin,  Miss  Zell,"  answered  he,  stoutly,  "  Jes 
as  easy  as  He  make  dis  white  rose  grow." 

"Would  you  mind  asking  Him?  It  seems  to 
me  I  would  rather  pray  out  here  among  the  flowers," 
she  said,  in  low,  tremulous  tones. 

So  Hannibal  concluded  his  simple,  but  most 
effective  service  by  kneeling  down  by  his  pulpit,  the 
rose-bush,  and  praying : 

"  Bressed  Jesus,  guve  dis  dear  chile  a  new  heart, 
'cause  she  wants  it,  and  you  wants  her  to  hab  it. 
Make  it  pure  and  full  of  lub.  You  can  do  it, 
dear  Jesus.  You  knows  you  can.  Now,  jes  please 
do  it.  Amen" 

Zell's  responsive  "  Amen  "  was  like  a  note  from 
an  Eolian  harp. 

"  Hannibal,"  said  she,  looking  wistfully  at  him, 
"  I  think  I  feel  better.  I  think  I  feel  it  growing 
white." 

"  Now  jes  look  here,  Miss  Zell,"  said  he,  giving 
her  a  bit  of  pastoral  counsel  before  going  back  to 
his  work,  "  don't  you  keep  looking  at  your  heart, 
and  scein  how  it  feels,  or  you'll  get  discouraged. 
See  dis  rose  agin  ?  It  don't  look  at  itself.  It  jes 
looks  up  at  de  sun.  So  you  look  straight  at  Jesus, 
and  your  heart  grow  whiter  ebery  day." 

And  Hannibal  and  the  flower  did  gradually  lead 


CLOSING  SCENES.  503 

poor  Zell  to  Him  who  "  taketh  away  the  sins  of  the 
world,"  and  He  said  to  her  as  to  one  of  old,  "  Thy 
faith  hath  saved  thee  ,  go  in  peace." 

On  the  evening  of  the  I4th  of  June,  Edith  had 
more  than  enough  to  pay  the  interest  due  on  the 
1 5th,  and  she  was  most  anxious  to  have  it  settled. 
She  was  standing  at  the  gate  waiting  for  Hannibal 
to  join  her  as  escort,  when  she  saw  Arden  Lacey 
coming  toward  her.  He  had  not  looked  at  her 
since  that  dreadful  afternoon,  and  was  now  about 
to  pass  her  without  notice,  though  from  his  manner 
she  saw  he  was  conscious  of  her  presence.  He 
looked  so  worn  and  changed  that  her  heart  yearned 
toward  him.  A  sudden  thought  occurred  to  her, 
and  she  said, 

"  Mr.'  Lacey." 

He  kept  right  on,  and  paid  no  heed  to  her. 

There  was  a  mingling  of  indignation  and  pathos 
in  her  voice  when  she  spoke  again. 

44 1  appeal  to  you  as  a  woman,  and  no  matter 
what  I  am,  if  you  are  a  true  man,  you  will  listen." 

There  was  that  in  her  tone  and  manner  that  re- 
minded him  of  the  dark  rainy  night  when  they  first 
met. 

He  turned  instantly,  but  he  approached  her  with 
a  cold,  silent  bow. 

44 1  must  go  to  the  village  to-night.  I  wish  your 
protection,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  she  tried  vainly  to 
render  steady. 

He  again  bowed  silently,  and  they  walked  to  the 
village  together  without  a  word.  Hannibal  came 


504  WHAT  CAN  SHE  DOt 

out  in  time  to  see  them  disappear  down  the  road 
one  on  one  side  of  it,  and  one  on  the  other. 

"  Well  now,  dey's  both  quar,"  he  said,  scratching 
his  white  head  with  perplexity,  "  but  one  ting  is 
mighty  sartin,  I'se  glad  my  ole  jints  is  saved  dat 
tramp." 

Edith  stopped  at  the  door  of  Mr.  Growl's  office^ 
and  Arden,  for  the  first  time,  spoke  hastily, 

"  I  can't  go  in  there." 

"  I  hope  you  are  not  afraid,"  said  Edith,  in  a  tone 
that  made  him  step  forward  quick  enough. 

Mr.  Crowl  looked  as  if  he  could  not  believe  his 
eyes,  but  Edith  gave  him  no  time  to  collect  his  wits, 
but  by  the  following  little  speech  quite  overwhelmed 
both  him  and  Arden,  though  with  different  emo- 
tions. 

"  There,  sir,  is  the  interest  due  on  the  mortgage. 
There  is  a  slight  explanation  due  you  and  also  this 
gentleman  here,  who  -was  my  friend.  There  are  four 
persons  in  our  family  dependent  on  me  for  support 
and  shelter.  We  were  all  so  poor  and  helpless  that 
it  seemed  impossible  to  maintain  ourselves  in  inde- 
pendence. You  made  a  proposition  through  my 
mother,  never  to  me,  that  might  be  called  generous 
if  it  had  not  been  coupled  with  certain  threats  of 
prompt  foreclosure  if  not  accepted.  In  an  hour  of 
weakness  and  for  the  sake  of  the  ethers,  I  said  to 
my  mother,  never  to  you,  that  if  I  could  not  pay 
the  interest  and  could  not  support  the  family,  I 
would  marry  you.  But  I  did  very  wrong,  and  I  be- 
came so  unhappy  and  desperate  in  view  of  this  par- 


CLOSING  SCENES.  505 

tial  promise,  that  Ithought  I  would  lose  my  reason. 
But  in  the  hour  of  my  greatest  darkness,  when  I  saw 
no  way  out  of  our  difficulties,  God  led  me  to  see 
how  wrongly  I  had  acted,  and  to  resolve  that  under 
no  possible  circumstances  would  I  marry  you,  nor 
any  man  to  whom  I  could  not  give  a  true  wife's 
love.  Since  that  time  I  have  been  able  honestly  to 
earn  the  money  there ;  and  in  a  few  days  more  I 
will  pay  you  the  fifty  dollars  that  my  mother  bor- 
rowed of  you.  So  please  give  me  my  receipt." 

"And  remember  henceforth,"  said  Arden  sternly, 
"  that  this  lady  has  a  protector." 

Simon  was  sharp  enough  to  see  that  he  was  beaten, 
so  he  signed  the  receipt  and  gave  it  to  Edith  with- 
out  a  word.  They  left  his  office  and  started  home- 
ward.  When  out  of  the  village  Arden  said  timidly, 

"Can  you  forgive  me,  Miss  Edith?" 

11  Can  you  forgive  me  ? "  answered  she,  even 
more  humbly. 

They  stopped  in  the  road  and  grasped  each 
other's  hands  with  a  warmth  more  expressive  than 
all  words.  Then  they  went  on  silently  again.  At 
the  gate  Edith  said  timidly, 

"  Won't  you  come  in  ?  " 

"  I  dare  not,  Miss  Allen,"  said  Arden,  gravely, 
and  with  a  dash  of  bitterness  in  his  voice.  "  I  am 
a  man  of  honor  with  all  my  faults,  and  I  would 
keep  the  promise  I  made  you  in  the  letter  I  wrote 
one  year  ago.  I  must  see  very  little  of  you,"  he 
continued,  in  a  very  heartsick  tone,  "  but  let  me 
serve  you  just  the  same." 
22 


506  W. HA  T  CAN  SHE  DO? 

Edith's  face  seemed  to  possess  more  than  human 
loveliness  as  it  grew  tender  and  gentle  in  the 
radiance  of  the  full  moon,  and  he  looked  at  it  with 
the  hunger  of  a  famished  heart. 

"  But  you  made  the  promise  to  me,  did  you 
not  ?  "  she  asked  in  a  low  tone. 

"  Certainly,"  said  Arden. 

"  Then  it  seems  to  me  that  I  have  the  right  to 
absolve  you  from  the  promise,"  she  continued  in  a 
still  lower  tone,  and  a  face  like  a  damask-rose  in 
moonlight. 

"  Miss  Allen— Edith— "  said  Arden,  "  oh,  for 
Heaven's  sake,  be  kind.  Don't  trifle  with  me." 

Edith  had  restrained  her  feelings  so  long  that 
she  was  ready  to  either  laugh  or  cry,  so  with  a  peal 
of  laughter,  that  rang  out  like  a  chime  of  silver 
bells,  she  said, 

"  Like  the  fat  Abbot  in  the  story,  I  give  you  full 
absolution  and  plenary  indulgence." 

He  seized  her  hand  and  carried  it  to  his  lips: 
"  Edith,"  he  pleaded,  in  a  low,  tremulous  tone, 
"  will  you  let  me  be  your  slave  ?  " 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,"  said  she,  sturdily.  "  But,"  she 
added,  looking  shyly  up  at  him,  "  if  you  will  take 
me  as  your  little  wife,  I  will  take  you  as  my  big 
husband." 

Arden  was  about  to  kneel  at  her  feel,  but  she 
said  : 

"  Nonsense  !  If  you  must  get  on  your  knees, 
come  and  kneel  to  my  strawberry-bed — you  ought 
to  thank  that,  I  can  tell  you.'  And  so  the  matter- 


CLOSING  SCENES.  507 

of- fact  girl,  that  could  not  abide  sentiment,  got 
through  a  scene  that  she  greatly  dreaded. 

They  could  see  the  berries  reddening  among  the 
green  leaves,  and  the  night  wind  blowing  across 
them  was  like  a  gale  from  Araby  the  Blest. 

"  Were  it  not  for  this  strawberry-bed  you  would 
not  have  obtained  absolution  to-night.  But,  Ar- 
tlen,  she  added,  seriously,  "  here  is  your  way  out 
of  trouble,  as  well  as  mine.  We  are  near  good 
markets.  Give  up  your  poor,  slipshod  farming  (I'm 
plain,  you  see,)  and  raise  fruit.  I  will  supply  you 
with  vines.  We  will  go  into  partnership.  You 
show  what  a  man  can  do,  and  I  will  show  what  a 
girl  can  do." 

He  took  her  hand  and  looked  at  her  so  fondly, 
that  she  hid  her  face  on  his  shoulder.  He  stroked 
her  head  and  said,  in  a  a  half  mirthful  tone : 

"  Ah,  Edie,  Edie,  woman  once  got  man  out  of 
a  garden,  but  you,  I  perceive,  are  destined  to  lead 
me  into  one  ;  and  any  garden  where  you  are  will 
be  Eden  to  me." 

She  looked  up,  with  her  face  suddenly  becoming 
grave  and  wistful,  and  said, 

"  Arden,  God  will  walk  in  my  garden  in  the  cool 
of  the  day.'  You  won't  hide  from  Him,  will 
you  ?  " 

"  No,"  he  answered,  earnestly.  "  I  now  feel  sure 
that,  through  my  faith  'in  you,  I  shall  soon  have 
fattt  in  Him." 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

LAST  WORDS. 

T^DITH  did  sustain  the  family  on  the  products 
-I—-/  of  her  little  place.  And,  more  than  that,  the 
yield  from  her  vines  and  orchard  was  so  abundant, 
that  she  aided  Arden  to  meet  the  interest  of  the 
mortgage  on  the  Lacey  place,  so  that  Mr.  Crowl  could 
not  foreclose  that  Autumn,  as  he  intended.  She 
so  woke  her  dreamy  lover  up,  that  he  soon  became 
a  keen,  masterful  man  of  business,  and,  at  her  sug- 
gestion, at  once  commenced  the  culture  of  small 
fruits ;  she  giving  him  a  good  start  from  her  own 
place. 

Rose  took  the  situation  of  nurse  with  Judge  Clif- 
ford's married  daughter,  having  the  care  of  two 
little  children.  She  thus  secured  a  pleasant,  sheltered 
home,  where  she  was  treated  with  great  kindness. 
Instead  of  running  in  debt,  as  in  New  York,  she  was 
able  to  save  the  greater  part  of  her  wages,  and,  in 
two  years,  had  enough  ahead  to  take  time  to  learn 
the  dressmakers'  trade  thoroughly,  for  which  she 
had  a  taste.  B-it  a  sensible  young  mechanic,  who 
had  long  been  attentive,  at  last  persuaded  her  to 
make  him  a  happy  home. 

Mrs.  Lacey's  prayers  were  effectual  in  the  case  of 
her  husband,  for,  to  the  astonishment  of  the  whole 


LAST  WORDS.  509 

neighborhood,  he  reformed,  and  became  a  con- 
sistent member  of  the  church.  Laura  remained  a 
pale  home-blossom,  sheltered  by  Edith's  love. 

With  the  blossoms  she  loved,  Zell  faded  away  in 
the  Autumn,  but  her  death  was  like  that  of  the 
flowers,  in  the  full  hope  of  the  glad  Spring-time 
of  a  new  life.  As  her  eyes  closed  and  she  bieathed 
her  last  sigh  out  on  Edith's  bosom,  old  Hannibal 
sobbed : 

"  She's — a  white  rose — now — sure  'nuff." 

Arden  and  Edith  were  married  the  following 
year,  on  the  I4th  of  June,  the  anniversary  of  their 
engagement.  Edith  greatly  shocked  Mrs.  Allen  by 
having  the  ceremony  performed  in  the  garden. 

"Why  not?"  she  said.  "God  married  a  couple 
there  once." 

Mrs.  Groody,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  McTrump,  Mrs.  Ran- 
ger, Mrs.  Hart  and  her  daughters,  and  quite  a  num- 
ber of  other  friends,  were  present. 

Hannibal  stood  by  the  white  rose-bush,  that  -.vas 
again  in  bloom,  and  tears  of  joy,  mingling  r/ith 
those  of  sorrow,  bedewed  the  sweet  flowers. 

And  Malcom  stood  up,  after  the  ceremon) ,  .-rid 
said,  with  a  certain  dignity,  that  for  a  mc-f/ent 
hushed  and  impressed  all  present : 

4  Tho'  I'm  a  little  mon,  I  sometimes  ha'  ;jreat 
tho'ts,  an'  I  have  learned  to  ken  fra  my  gu>l$  v/ife 
there,  an'  this  sweet  blossom  o'  the  LorJ's,  that 
woman  can  bring  a'  the  wourld  to  God  if  «he  will. 
That  s  what  she  can  do." 


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